Something Like Danger
by sinking815
Summary: The next few minutes feel agonizingly slow. It seems with every passing second, my breath grows louder, the shuffles and whimpers of my scared family heightened in the stillness. If this continues for much longer, I'm certain the Peacekeeper will turn and find us... AU retell of Catching Fire. G/K
1. Chapter 1

August 7, 2011

_Note: This is my first foray into the fanfiction world for The Hunger Games trilogy. If it wasn't evident in the summary, I am fascinated Gale's and Katniss' dynamic. This was written to relieve that "What if?" bug that was bothering me after I finished Catching Fire. Set immediately after Gale's confession on p. 96. Reviews are greatly appreciated. Will most likely be more than a one-shot if I can get into Katniss' head a little better. _

_Disclaimer: I do not own or pretend to own anything related to the Hunger Games. They are the property of Suzanne Collins. _

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><p>I have never been good with words. So I shouldn't be frustrated that nothing comes rushing to rescue me from the awkward silence that has fallen between us. Gale's dark eyebrows pull together, his eyes harden slightly as he processes my hesitation as rejection. Which it's not. I just can't bring myself to say those three words back.<p>

"Gale…" I plead, when he starts to pull away from me. He stops his retreat, caution spreading across his face, though he does grant me his attention.

But for what? What am I supposed to say that won't make more of a mess of things than I already have? Voice my feelings in return only to say it can't be, that we can never be because the Capitol won't allow us? That I have to keep up this charade with Peeta to keep my family safe? To keep us all safe? Wouldn't that just hurt him more? Won't that just drive Gale away?

All of this races through my mind in an instant before I realize that no matter what I do, I'm going to lose him anyway. If I refuse him, I'll have undone all the repair to the fractures the Capitol has driven between us. To say the least, our friendship has been strained since my return from the Games. Since Gale kissed me. Under the tree that afternoon, I had struggled to see this new version of Gale, who forced me to look at him and I in a whole different light. But in the days after, when he refused to bring it up and I couldn't find the words to do so, I had been driven insane by the tension. Crying myself to sleep, I finally had admitted to myself how much he means to me. And to not let Gale, my best friend, know how I truly feel and watch him walk away, wounded, would be more horrific than anything the Capitol could ever do. Than what they are doing to us.

So I decide to let him know it.

Tightening my arms around him, I press my entire body to him, capturing his mouth with my own. My lips work a desperate dance against his, willing him to understand that I choose him. That I won't let anyone, even that monster Snow, take him from me. I'm just about to come up for air and try another assault when I feel the pressure returned.

Gale's fingers spread across my back and somehow I'm even closer against him. My head begins to spin as he takes over our kiss, not relinquishing me once. Instead, his mouth coaxes mine open and deepens the contact. A split second of air vanquishes the stars I was beginning to see behind my closed lids before he's sliding his mouth once more against mine.

I'm drowning in the intensity when Gale slides his hands to the backs of my thighs. Deftly, he lifts me, hooks my legs around his waist and pins me between his body and the wall. The aggressive movement startles even him because he pulls back, though he doesn't release me from where he's trapped me.

He stays close and I can see something warring across his face, the firelight illuminating the dilemma in his gray eyes. There's confusion and desire dancing in those beautiful depths and something like danger that floods me with a strange kind of heat.

"Katniss," he says, his voice low and rough. "I didn't want it to be like this."

My face falls and I know he sees it because he starts rushing his words.

"I mean, the first time… I just wanted…" he fumbles. "… it to be different."

He looks up through his thick lashes to see if I'm registering what he's trying to say. Gale's never been good with words either, but I understand.

"It's not like we have a choice," I say softly. "We might not get another chance. And Gale…." I bring my hands to either side of his face so he can't look away. Because this next part is important.

"I want it to be you."

Gale's eyes widen as he fully absorbs what I have just told him. Their gray seems to darken and something in my core starts a slow burn. He barely brushes his lips against mine, trailing kisses over my cheek, along my jaw, down my neck. Then suddenly, Gale is everywhere.

His hands slide under my shirt, run up my front, and take my tunic with them. If it makes a noise when it hits the floor, I'm oblivious. Gale is touching me, holding me, kissing me all over and I'm finding it hard to follow the trails his hands and mouth are forging. I'm aware that we're moving but only vaguely.

When he stops just as suddenly as he started, I open my eyes to find him hovering over me. Somewhere in the frenzy, he's removed his own shirt and I am mesmerized by the way his skin seems to glow russet in the firelight. I've seen Gale shirtless many times, but not like this. Never like this.

Slowly, I drag my fingers across the muscled planes of his chest, our skin connecting with each of his deep breaths. My nerves flutter when I reach the waistband of his pants. I pause, unsure how to continue.

Offering me a crooked grin, Gale lets his hand find its way to the snap on my leggings. His fingers curl around the fastening, but he waits. I realize he wants me to do the same. Together, we slip out of the last of our clothes.

I have seen men naked before. Being a daughter to the local healer has left me detached to the human form when exposed in its entirety. The sick and injured. The dead and dying. I have learned to ignore it all.

Gale, however, will not be ignored. He is the antithesis of those filed through our home. Young, strong, alive. My face is burning underneath his watchful gaze. I'm afraid to do anything, in case it is the wrong thing. I am only two years his junior, but those two years could be decades for all the anxiety and inexperience I feel right now.

I try to jerk away when he grabs my wrist, pulling my hand lower. There is no relief from the heat between our cradled hips and I squeeze my eyes shut, uncertain and unnerved.

"Catnip, look at me," Gale says. I obey, mainly out of habit. "It's okay."

My chest is heaving, my heart sounds loud in my head, and I feel like I might bolt… Slowly, he closes my hand beneath his. He is softer than I imagined. Firm, yet silky. Satin stretched over sun-warmed marble. Intrigued, I slide my hand back and forth, exploring the sensation of his skin against my palm. Gale tries to suppress a groan and I freeze at the noise. My eyes dart to his face. His forehead is creased with the same line of concentration he gets when targeting game. His eyes are now shut tight, his breathing harsh and hot on my cheeks. When he's convinced I've stopped, he opens them and I can feel the edge of my mouth turn up into a shy smile. I have control too, it would seem.

Gale smiles devilishly back at me and releases my hand to tease me in return. His fingers trace me lightly, spiraling inward in a very specific motion. The knowing glint in his eyes sends a surge of anger through me, he's clearly done this before. I stare at him as he watches me, his hand still moving deliberately, and I'm trying to decide how I feel about my realization when…

Heat. White hot heat rockets through me and I cry out involuntarily. The intense pleasure fades quickly leaving a dull throbbing in its wake. And then Gale moves. Again, blinding pressure and heat, over and over and over, until I am trembling underneath him, waiting to fall over some invisible cliff, dazed and a little disoriented.

He brings both hands to my face, pushing back loose strands that have tumbled from my braid. He traces my nose, my cheeks, and lips with his thumbs, studying me intently. Frustrated, I roll my hips as if that would relieve some of the pressure that's settled between my legs. Gale understands and he shifts himself slightly forward, his mouth next to my ear, telling me to relax. Then, he slides in.

I can't help but tense anyway. While not entirely uncomfortable, it's not an entirely comfortable feeling either. I feel stretched, wound, and tight. Gale's perfectly still, his lips moving gently over my face, letting me adjust. A moment passes, or maybe minutes, I'm not really sure until my fingers unclench from where I've dug into his back. My knees ease up and my legs slacken.

Gale takes this as the sign to start a slow pace. With each press, I feel the heat rising, the pressure building. He's tying knots inside me and I'm finding it hard to focus on anything but him between my legs. He buries his face into my neck as the pace quickens. My own hips rise and fall to meet his, the new angle pulling soft cries from the back of my throat. Our breathing is ragged and loud, interrupted by the occasional crackle of the fire blazing away in the hearth.

I'm afraid I'll burst into flames, the ache is so intense. I want him to stop and not stop, all at the same time. A voice inside that sounds like me, only breathier, is begging _more _and _faster _and _please_. As if he hears, he quickens. My mouth is dry, my hands struggling to find purchase on his slick skin. I want to anchor myself somehow, I'm so dangerously close to the edge. Gale finds my grasping hand and locks our fingers just as I explode beneath him. My body arches up and falls back as the relief floods throughout me. I lie shuddering, trying to catch my breath when Gale grunts and finds his own release.

Then we're still.

My mind is racing, though not with thoughts I'd imagined I'd have during this moment. I used to think I'd feel elated and satisfied, a sickeningly sweet gooey feeling. At least, that's what I'd gleaned from overheard conversations from some of the girls at school. And while part of me does feel something tingly and wonderful, a larger part can only focus on one question that leaves me reeling with horror.

What have we done?


	2. Chapter 2

_August 16__th__, 2011_

_Note: Thank you all for the kind words and encouragement! I'm still working out the details of this as I go, so suggestions are welcome. Reviews too. ;)_

_Disclaimer: Still don't own any of the characters below._

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><p>Yes, what have we done? The question plagues me as we crunch our way through the fresh snow. It's heavy, the kind that sticks to our boots and makes our feet feel leaden with each step. Neither of us has spoken since we… Well, that's not true. I mumbled something brilliantly romantic like, "We should probably head home." Now, all I can think about are the consequences that await us there.<p>

I don't regret it, this I know for certain. But Gale and I have crossed a line. No, more than that. We may as well have knocked on President Snow's front door and spit on his shoes when he answered. I imagine Gale's life hanging in one of his own snares, dangling him precariously close to the snapping jaws of those mutant wolves as Snow leans in to cut the rope.

I shudder at the thought, drawing a concerned look from Gale. The worry is evident in his eyes. Though he hasn't pressed me, I know my relative silence is gnawing away at him. His footsteps always fall a little more harshly when he's agitated. His breaths puff out in hot bursts of steam. I want to say something to alleviate his anxiety. I want to talk about our next move. I want to be closer so we can't be overheard.

"I'm cold," I say loudly, as if I'm addressing the trees around me. And I am to some extent. Just in case someone is watching.

Gale opens his arm and I gladly sidle up to him. He's warm as always and my paranoia begins to melt away. Our bodies bump as we navigate the drifts. After a moment, I feel at ease enough to speak.

"Gale?" My voice still sounds frightened.

"Yeah, Catnip?"

"We're in big trouble."

I do not expect him to laugh, but he does, and soon I am laughing too. Maybe it's the stress. Or the insanity of this situation we're in. When our throats are sore from choking down the freezing air, I look up at him, my expression serious.

"I mean it."

His brow furrows, casting his eyes in shadow, and he frowns. "I know."

"We have to run, Gale," I say. Somehow the words sound shallow and naïve when voiced in the gloom of the forest. "They'll never leave me alone to live my life as I want."

"Or mine," Gale says. His voice is harsh and his grip tightens around me.

"Or yours," I agree.

"We'll have to be smart about it," he says. "Gather supplies, be careful who we tell…" He looks down at me.

"Keep up the façade…" I finish. The words are barely out of my mouth before his jaw tightens as he registers what that means. I know it's been nothing but torture for him to play the role of my cousin, but surely he can see the necessity of continuing the charade.

"It's only for a little bit longer," I insist.

"Were you planning on asking him to come too?"

My hesitation is his answer.

"Figures." Gale's arm falls off my shoulders and he storms forward, mumbling something about "them always taking everything."

"Gale," I call after him. He doesn't turn. This enrages me and I'm bolting forward, throwing my hands on his chest, and shoving him hard.

"Stop!" It takes a second for him to see something other than red, and I manage to ratchet my own frustration down a notch. My voice is lower, softer, soothing. "I can't leave Peeta behind. They'll destroy him."

Gale rolls his eyes and looks away, clearly not wanting the lecture.

"Hey!" My gloved hands find either side of his face, forcing him to look at me. "I choose you! Are you listening? I choose you. But Peeta helped me out of that arena, and I'm not going to just abandon him!"

Gale stares at me hard, then relents, and nods once. I slide back underneath his arm – there is still tension rolling through him— and I can only let his anger dissipate as we walk. The movement of his body next to mine is comforting and my thoughts wander back to the cabin, replaying moments with surprising clarity. His hot breath on my neck. His weight pressing against me. His knowing grin when I come unglued.

It's a good thing my hands are gloved or my nails would've drawn blood, my fists are clenched so tight. I shouldn't ask but the flare of envy is so raw, I do anyway.

"You've done that before, haven't you?"

My accusatory tone catches him off guard.

"Yes." Gale draws out the word, unsure of my intent.

"A lot?"

"A few."

"Do I know…?" My teeth are gritted and I don't know whether the word I want is _her_ or_ them_.

"Does it matt…?" Gale starts, takes in my posture, and asks, "Are you jealous?"

"No!" Even I can hear my voice dripping with it.

His smirk is infuriating, and I really think I shouldn't care so much. He is older and I'd be kidding myself to think otherwise. I'm aware of the old saying about a pot and a kettle, but I'm still aggravated.

His words are soft against my hair. "I believe you."

Gale backs away because we've reached the fence, and I can see he totally doesn't believe me, but his playful mood is back. I guess I'll take that even if it's at my own expense. He brushes off the wet snow from his coat as I slide under. When he drops my hand after helping me up, I'm disappointed, but I cannot argue. Facades. Only a bit longer.

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><p>The lights are off when we pass Gale's house, several tracks of little feet leading away towards the Victor's Village almost invisible under the newly fallen snow. I can see Gale is itching to stop by the Hob, wants to trade his turkey, but I suggest we head home. The wind is picking up and the sun has vanished behind the dark clouds storming their way along the horizon. It makes me uneasy.<p>

The snow is falling in huge flakes by the time we reach the center square of the Victor's Village. All the houses' windows are dark, save mine. From the front, light blazes from nearly every window and smoke rises from the chimney. Gale raps on the door.

My mother answers, her mouth breaking into a beaming smile when she sees its only Gale and I. "Oh good. We were just about to start."

We means my mother and Prim, Gale's family, and the Mellarks. There are two empty seats next to each other at the end of the table that have been saved for us. As we take our seats, I can feel everyone's eyes on us and hope that they think my red cheeks are from the cold outside. My gaze catches Peeta's watchful stare for a second before I focus intently on my plate. Suddenly, my body seems to burn, every track of Gale's touch and kisses blazing forth with brilliant clarity. I'm wondering if I really am glowing when my mother, of all people, saves me from a meltdown.

"Only the turkey?" she asks, motioning for people to begin eating. I don't yet trust my voice and am thankful Gale answers her.

"Yeah," he says, loading his fork with mashed potatoes. "This storm must have driven everything to ground early."

Small conversations begin, pulling attention away from us and I feel the relief flood my veins. So when Gale's socked foot finds mine under the table, I let him linger. Our plates were loaded already with a little of everything when we sat. There's chicken with gravy and mashed potatoes, fresh bread donated by the Mellarks, and two side dishes of canned beets and peas. Without a word, Gale and I switch so he ends up with the beets and I the peas. It's so natural to me that it doesn't cross my mind that anyone would take particular notice.

"Gale?" Rory is looking expectantly at his older brother, who continues to devour his food.

"Yeah, champ?"

"Are you and Katniss soul mates?"

There's a clatter as someone drops a fork on a plate and a hush silences the friendly chatter. Frozen with my spoon submerged in peas, I glance nervously first at Gale, then Rory, and back again. I refuse to look at Peeta.

"What makes you ask that?" Gale says, stabbing some chicken as if this were a perfectly normal dinner topic. No one else is pretending otherwise.

"You just switched vegetables without talking," Rory explains. Gale's gray eyes glint with amusement.

"Switching beets and peas makes us soul mates?"

Chuckles break out from around the table and my own mouth pulls up into a genuine smile at that logic.

"No!" Rory's voice rises, clearly annoyed that Gale is making fun of him. "You did it without talking. Anya says only soul mates can do that."

Anya, Gale told me once, is a girl from Rory's class that has a story in her honor at least once a school night at the Hawthorne dinner table. Gale said he thought it was sweet. I warned him to let Rory be.

Gale sets down his fork then, frowning to really consider his younger brother's argument. The mock seriousness on his face makes me want to laugh, but I stifle it. I don't need anyone really considering what we are discussing.

"I didn't know that," Gale answers, after contemplating. "Besides, everyone knows Katniss likes peas better. Don't you?" He turns to me and I nod emphatically, maybe too much so.

It is Rory's turn to frown, because if everyone knows this simple fact, then he looks foolish. Unfortunately for me, Prim pipes up and not in Gale's or my defense.

"_I _didn't know that. And I'm her sister."

I can't stop the stare I aim her direction. Her blue eyes don't waver, holding mine intently. I see her mind working furiously to piece together this information into a picture that explains how this detail escaped her. Sometimes, I really wish she weren't so observant.

"Well, now you do." The smile Gale gives her is completely inescapable, all dimples and warmth, and Prim flushes, her cheeks bright against her blonde hair. She ducks her head, mashing her potatoes and reaching for the gravy boat.

Utensils begin clinking, conversations resume, and I reach for my glass. Only then, do I release a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.

_~Fin_


	3. Chapter 3

_August 17__th__, 2011_

_Note: Two things. First, every day updates will not be the norm for this author. I'm just spoiling you while I have the time to write. : ) Second, the fluff will not last forever. I think, most would agree, that while it's fun, Gale and Katniss need some fuel for their fire. The angst is coming._

_As always, reviews are greatly appreciated._

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><p>Exchanging conspiratorial grins with Peeta, I roll my eyes and cross my arms over my chest. Somehow we've been roped into a spontaneous game of hide and seek. My mother and Hazelle were up to their elbows in soap suds when recruitment began and got off, free. The older Mellarks had excused themselves after dinner in order to head back into town. Morning rush at the family bakery started well before sunrise, and baking and prep began well before that. So now, Peeta and I have been listening to Gale lay down the most drawn out rules of the game. He is completely ridiculous and the kids love it.<p>

"What rooms are off limits?" Gale asks, striding before us like a general rallying his troops.

"The bedrooms!" they yell.

"Good," Gale nods. He leans in close to Posy, his hands on his knees, his nose almost touching hers. The little girl fights a losing battle to keep a straight face. "And what is the penalty for hiding in a forbidden room?"

"I don't know," Posy says. Her cheeky little smile tells me this is not true. Gale falls to his knees, his hand coming to his chest in mock indignation. I am fascinated by this silly side of him. He commands their attention – even Prim is bubbling over with giddiness – with the same ease with which he handles a bow and arrow. It reminds me of a conversation not that long ago, words spoken of the future, of wishes, of hope.

"I don't know," Posy insists again, and I'm drawn back to the present.

"Death by tickling!" He swoops his little sister high into the air, spinning her once, before sitting her down. "Ready? Hide!"

We flee the living room in a flurry of feet and flying arms as Gale buries his face against the hearth, counting loudly. Peeta and I seem to have the same thing in mind, because we bolt for the staircase. My socks fight for purchase on the slippery marble floor in our foyer and I lose ground to him. He disappears into the upstairs bathroom, just as I reach the top of the stairs. I huff my breath in frustration. It is the only room on the second floor that is not off limits.

"Ready or not, here I come!" Gale shouts from downstairs.

_That was a fast twenty seconds_, I think. But I don't have time to run back down and hide on the first floor. I slip into a forbidden room and dive under my bed. Death by tickling can't be that bad.

In the dark, my breathing sounds loud and though it may be my ears compensating for my inhibited vision, I work to slow it. The third time I pull air in through my nose and blow it out through my mouth, Gale has found Vick. Now the two brothers will join forces to find the rest of us. I strain to hear the murmuring as they formulate a strategy.

Footsteps bounding up the stairs tell me my number might be up. Listening, I deduce the feet are in fact only one set of feet, and the owner is of light weight. It crosses my mind that I may not have heard Gale's, but then I realize that's my second clue. Vick and Gale have split because Gale would not travel with a loud companion. His style is more stealth and surprise.

Vick's form blocks out the ray of light leaking into my bedroom through the cracked open door, but only momentarily. Either, he has decided not to look in a forbidden room first or thinks no one would willingly want to be tickled to death.

Domestic quiet takes over for a few minutes and then I hear, "Gotcha!"

Peeta's laugh is followed by, "Take me to your leader."

I smile, his voice sounds like he's genuinely enjoying this game. It's the first time I admit I've been worrying about Peeta's feelings since I walked in the front door. He's probably surmised that Gale and I are guilty of something but he doesn't have any inkling of the extent of it. I shake my head, clearing those thoughts from my mind.

The voices I hear downstairs are louder now and I tune into the conversation.

"I have to sit out, I know too much." This is one of the other rules, hiders cannot seek when they know the location of another hider. That was Peeta.

"There's no one else up there. I checked."

"All the rooms?" I recognize the doubt in Gale's voice.

"No, there's no other room to hide in up there."

A pause, and I slide further under the bed because I can practically hear Gale's thoughts. He doesn't think everyone's playing fair. He knows I would challenge the restrictions.

"Keep looking around."

Vick runs off, and there's a murmur. Something passes between Peeta and Gale but I can't hear it. I'm pressing my cheek to the floor, coaxing nothing helpful from the carpet. I'm not sure how much time passes before I realize there's something blocking the light from the hall. My heart leaps into full gear as if this were actually a deadly hunt and not a children's game. The door pushes open on eerily quiet hinges and I catch a glimpse of socked feet.

I don't have to see his face to know his eyes are scanning the room. He'll note the covers still tucked neatly on the bed, realize the closet is overflowing with clothing, see the curtains pulled to the side of the bay window. My mind's eye is scanning his features so intently, I jump a little when I realize the gray eyes and handsome face I'm imagining are right in front of me. The unchecked movement gives me away.

"Hi, Catnip."

In vain, I try to escape his reaching hand, but Gale finds a grip on my ankle and I'm caught. Part of my strategy is to "surrender" without resistance, this helps avoid me avoid carpet burns and tricks Gale into thinking I'm not going to run. Arrogantly, he lets me go as I lie supine before him.

"Why are you in a forbidden room, Catnip?" He's whispering, because he wants to keep his discovery a secret. He wants maximum torture time.

"I ran out of time," I whisper back, pleased when my voice sounds high and breathy. I'm grinning guiltily, drawing him in with my admission of defeat. As adrenaline builds in my body, my chest rises and falls rapidly, and I notice Gale's eyes drop and watch for just a second. It's the second I need.

Flipping onto my stomach, I quickly scurry out of the room. Or manage to crawl two feet, before I'm back on my back, pinned to the floor, arms over my head, Gale straddling my middle. I make a valiant attempt to scowl in defiance, but when he leans forward, it's like electric current runs through my body. He kisses me lightly, barely allowing our lips to touch. I'm completely trusting so when launches his first round of tickling, I shriek with surprise.

"Gale!" I laugh, twisting and squirming away to no avail. "Gale, please!" His fingers poke and prod, sometimes gently, sometimes not. It's clear he's taking full advantage of being able to touch me, his hands linger in places that would raise eyebrows, but I can't protest because I'm laughing so hard.

"I'm sorry, Gale!"

He pauses his assault long enough to let me catch my breath. The tears stream down my face, wetting the hair at my ears. He grins at me, and says, "No, you're not."

The next attack leaves me squealing Gale's name and begging for help, and I have never been so grateful to be dog-piled by children. Rory, Vick, Posy, and Prim collapse on top of Gale, who falls backward easily, commanding his troops to turn their focus to the rulebreaker. Thankfully, they don't listen. Residual giggles escape me as I gingerly pull myself up to lean against the bed. My skin feels hot and sweaty from all the laughing and I watch the tangle of little bodies and one big eventually fall apart into individuals again. Only when everyone is gasping for air do my eyes find Peeta.

He's leaning in the doorway, watching the scene before him. After a moment, he turns to me. There's a smile on his face, but when I realize it doesn't quite reach his eyes, my own disappears from mine.

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><p>The living room has a happy holiday feel as we huddle around the fireplace, cupping mugs of hot cider. The snow falls in thick clumps and the wind howls against the panes. It took exactly one minute for my mother and me to convince Hazelle and Gale to just stay overnight. Wandering home in a full blown blizzard is not advisable even if you are an experienced outdoorsman like Gale, not to mention navigating blind conditions while herding three young children.<p>

It took a little longer for me to talk Peeta into staying for a mug too. I could tell he was uncomfortable with what he had seen during hide and seek, but I didn't want him to leave making judgments, however true they might be. He agreed, though I think it was more to mollify me than because he wanted to.

Glancing around the room, I can see sleep in almost everyone's faces. The crackling of the fire lulls us into content dazes. Curled in her mother's lap, Posy is the only one who has succumbed to the silence, though Prim is not far behind. Her head bobs as she drifts in and out, her grip loosening on her mug. I stand, touch her shoulder, and offer to take her mug into the kitchen.

"I'll help," Peeta says, rising to his feet too.

"I think it's about time for everyone to call it a night," my mother says. "Peeta, are you sure you don't want to stay?"

"It's only two houses over," Peeta replies, "I think I can handle it."

"I'll walk you out," I say.

We collect the rest of the mugs and exit to the kitchen followed by a chorus of good nights. Setting the mugs in the sink, Peeta and I make quick work of washing the mugs before I walk him to the front door. There's a tense moment where each of us searches for words and we listen to the sounds of feet shuffling in the upstairs hallway.

"Thanks for dinner," Peeta says, slipping into his heavy wool coat. He opens the door, steps out into the cold night, and I follow him. I try hard not to shiver as I let the door close behind me, but I don't want our conversation overheard.

"Peeta, I'm sorry…" My mouth feels dry and I lose my nerve. "I'm sorry you had to see that."

He looks at me, confused.

"Gale and me, I mean." I duck my head, pushing snow around with my toe. "I wasn't trying to rub it in or anything."

"Katniss," he says, his mittened hands finding my shoulders. I look up at him. "I meant what I said on the train. I get it. I won't lie and say I necessarily like it, but I get it. I can see how easy it is with Gale. For you."

"Try not to think about it too much, okay?"

"Okay," I say. Only Peeta could find a way to something so kind and make me feel like confessing my sins. I have to remind myself that what Gale and I did isn't anyone's business but our own, but Peeta's selflessness makes me feel like a criminal. He doesn't mean to, I know, because he doesn't know about this afternoon in the woods. Still, I would feel better if he showed a little anger.

It probably isn't the smartest move to hug him but I do anyway. "Find me tomorrow sometime. I need to talk to you. It's important."

When he pulls away, his eyes blaze with questions but he understands. It's too long of a conversation for tonight and I'm shivering uncontrollably in my light layers.

"Go inside and warm up, Katniss," he says, heading down the path. "Have a good night."

"Good night!" I call over the wind.

The snow erases him from view after a few steps. I turn to go inside, exhausted and ready to bury beneath the covers of my warm bed.

_~Fin_

_Confession: I wasn't a fan of Peeta in the books, but he's kinda fun to write._


	4. Chapter 4

August 20th, 2011

_Note: It took me a while to write this chapter because I felt like I needed to know where the rest of the story was going in order to get this one right. So, I had to wait for Katniss and Gale to tell me where there story was going before I could continue writing it. I do have some direction now, and hopefully, can post chapters with some length even if it is only every few days. Thanks once again for the encouraging words and as always, reviews are greatly appreciated!_

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><p>The surrounding woods are quiet, unnaturally so. My left palm slick against the smoothly crafted alloy, my right hand reaching for and loading an arrow, I apprehensively crouch in the thick underbrush. It is hard to keep my head, the panic closes in like a thundering herd of wildebeest, but I swallow back the fear.<p>

I almost kill the mockingjay that flies into my peripheral vision, I'm so on edge. It alights on a pine branch, some needles falling silently to the ground from the slight disturbance. After a minute or two, it cocks its head and sings Rue's four note melody to me. The tune sounds distorted, my ears still ringing from the explosion. Well, that is, the one ear trying to recover.

Aggravated, I swipe at my left ear in a futile effort to clear it. My jacket sleeve comes away glistening, the dark red of my blood invisible against the black fabric. At least I can take comfort in the fact it's not streaming down my neck anymore.

The snap of a twig breaking somewhere behind me has me spinning completely in a one-eighty, my weight coming to rest on my forward foot, my arms taut and ready to fire. Several more snaps and it's taking all my restraint not to fire blindly. Whoever is being so careless as to not conceal his location may not necessarily be a threat to me.

"Katniss!"

Or not. My mouth goes dry and I draw back on my arrow more. But I don't answer. I replay the cry, trying to glean a clue to the owner. Male. Deep voice. Worried. Angry? I grit my teeth, realizing my ear was lucky to even hear the call.

"Katniss!"

It's closer and I feel my arm shaking. My insecurity is compromising my steadiness. The leaves on the underbrush in front of me ruffle, despite the lack of breeze. Something's coming my way and it's looking for me.

When the footsteps are audible, I have no choice. My arrow speeds out of view into the rustling. I pause, waiting for a response.

The groan that escapes from my invisible target is one of pain. More branches snap as the victim flounders forward, but the cacophony is clumsy and I grin, knowing my aim was true. I am not so thrilled when my prey stumbles into view.

Gale clutches the shaft of my arrow, its point lodged deeply into his chest. Dark wet streams leak from around his hands. When he reaches out to me, falling to his knees, his hand is dripping red with his blood.

"Katniss," he says, before collapsing to the ground.

I'm only aware I'm screaming after I gasp for breath for my burning lungs. My hands fly over his face, his chest, and I find myself wishing I wasn't the hunter in my family. Gale's gray eyes are wide and terrified as he coughs a bloody spray that splatters across my face.

"No, no, no, please!" I'm begging, "Stay with me, please!"

But all I can do is feel the tears streaming down my cheeks, clutch his hand to my chest, because there's nothing I can do.

"There's nothing you can do."

I look up, my mouth agape and sob in relief. Peeta is standing there, but I'm too happy for help to notice the malice that tarnishes the brilliant blue of his eyes. So when the knife whizzes by me, sticking with a sickening thud into soft flesh, and Gale's grip loosens around my hand, I feel like I'm lurching in a spinning vertigo. My mind refuses to put together what has happened but it has to eventually. I glare at Peeta with murder in my eyes. A cannon fires.

"NO!"

"Katniss!" he taunts, over and over.

I run at him, full out, but he's fading into darkness.

"Katniss!"

"Katniss!"

I bolt upright, prepared to run from the last remnants of my nightmare. Ragged and choking, my gasps mix with my coughs. The sound that escapes my throat is ugly, strangled. As my eyes adjust to the darkness, they dart about my bedroom, flitting from the slightly luminescent curtains to the dark spread of my covers to the silhouette of a figure next to me. There's someone in my room.

I scream.

"Katniss, shhhhhh. It's okay, it's me."

The lamp on the nightstand clicks on and Gale appears.

"It's just me," he repeats.

I'm so disoriented and raw that I break down. Gale sits quickly, his weight on the mattress pulls me towards him, and I fall into his waiting arms. He murmurs into my hair, holding me close until the horror runs its course. I'm trembling with exhaustion, an occasional shudder racking my body, when it's all said and done.

"Amazing you didn't wake the whole house up," he says, and it's not the entirely right thing to say at this moment, I smile weakly anyway.

He shifts to resituate us into a more comfortable position, but I, still fighting the remnants of my nightmare, start to panic. Without thinking, I immediately tense, clutching at any part of him I can get a grip on. "Don't, please…"

"It's all right, I'm not going anywhere."

Gale swings his legs onto my bed, reclining and tucking me across his chest. Gently, he works my fingers from the fierce hold on his shirt, his thumb tracing soothing circles on the back of my hand once I release my death grip. The weight of his arm against my back is reassuring, like a shield to ward off more bad dreams. It doesn't surprise me that he knows what I was dreaming about.

"The Games?" he asks.

I nod.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

I mumble something like a negative. I'm not ready to relive that horror so soon and I suspect Gale was asking more to be polite than anything. As the minutes tick by, my body begins to relax in stages. Gale lets his hand roam lazily across my back, and I make a noise of appreciation. I don't notice my eyes have closed until they snap open when Gale speaks.

"I didn't want to watch you in the Games," he says softly, "but I couldn't not watch either."

I feel his fingers twist in my hair, and I wonder if he thinks I'm asleep. Since Peeta and I returned, we've had this understanding that the Games were off limits. Sure, I'd managed to piece together what life had been like for those left behind. Prim's eyes reflected a weariness far too old for someone her age. My mother, ironically, was more motherly now than before I left. Greasy Sae told me how affected Gale was. Away from the watchful eyes of our families in the Hob, he had become distant and listless. A shadow of himself.

"At first, the worst part was how helpless I was. Sitting here in the Seam. You somewhere far away, out of my reach. I tried to help you though. I screamed directions at the TV when you kept circling that pond." He huffs. "Like you could actually hear me."

I swallow past the painful image of Gale watching me stumble around, half insane with thirst, while the commentators discussed my vital signs and speculated how many minutes I had left to live.

"And then, he was kissing you and there was nothing I could do." Gale's voice hardens and then trails off, softer. When I crane my neck to see his face, his eyes are watching our hands entwine, but the anguish in the gray is seeing something else. Finally, he looks at me. "Even if you won, I had lost you all the same."

I reach my hand up to touch his face, as if I can wipe away his torment. He catches my hand and presses his lips to my palm.

"I was thinking of you," I whisper. I can see the question in his eyes, wondering whether I specifically meant when I was kissing Peeta or something else. I don't really want to open up the memories I've kept locked away, but the vulnerability Gale's showing me thinks it might be imperative that I do. For both of us.

"In the Capitol, especially at meals." That earns me a small smile. "In training, when I got my score. My first night in the arena. After my hallucinations. When I kissed Peeta." I study his face, as he studies mine, and I feel the question even before he asks it.

"What were you thinking?"

"I was wondering what _you _were thinking."

He frowns, remembering. "I didn't like it."

I know he's referring to my more intimate moments with Peeta. I can't blame him for feeling betrayed and I can't really find it in me to defend Peeta, though I probably should. Instead, I pull myself up to kiss Gale, to head off the flickering fury I see bubbling under the surface. When I release him, the fervor on Gale's face triggers that burn inside of me again.

"I love you," I say. "Sorry it took me so long to figure it out."

"You always were slow," Gale teases. His grin draws out one of my own, and he kisses me quickly, before turning out the lamp. I willingly snuggle closer to him as he pulls the blankets around us both. It's not long before the gentle thud, thud, thud of his heart against my cheek lulls me to sleep.

_~Fin_


	5. Chapter 5

_August 22, 2011_

_Note: I had a lot of fun writing this chapter. It kinda gets the ball rolling for some characters to finally make an appearance that I'm excited to write. Also, for some future scenes… ;) Thanks to all of those who have reviewed! It makes me want to write faster for all of you!_

_Disclaimer: This is more just to remind myself that I don't own anything or anyone from THG trilogy._

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><p>It's almost nine when I wake. Gale is gone and I vaguely wonder where until I remember that today is Monday. No doubt he left before dawn to get to the mines. The thought does not put me in a good mood.<p>

I shower quickly and sneak back across the hallway in only my towel. Rummaging through my closet, I pull on a sweater and a pair of insulated pants. Though we can afford to heat our house with electricity now, my mother still keeps the thermostat setting relatively low. That's all right with me. I don't want to get soft from all the luxury.

Twisting my wet hair up in my towel, I head downstairs. The wonderful smell of the griddle assaults me before I hear the sizzling as someone plops something across its surface. My mother usually only fires up a big breakfast if there's an occasion. Suddenly, I freeze, thinking of the den, of Snow, and threats. Laughter pulls me from my momentary shock and I shake my head to clear away the unwanted memories.

Almost all the kitchen lights are on. Standing in a flour covered apron, my mother smiles at me and flips a pancake over, the batter making a satisfying sizzle when it returns to the griddle.

"Sorry," she says, "we started without you." Waving me away, she tells me to grab a plate and sit. I look to the table and Gale pulls back the empty chair next to him. His cheeks are bulging as he chews a heaping mouthful of pancake.

"Pancakes don't run away, you know," I tease, the grin spreading across my face before I can stop it.

"Are you sure?" Gale's hand snakes over to steal a pancake off my plate. He eyes me with raised eyebrows, daring me to punish him. I choose instead to be the mature one, and stick my tongue out at him. He laughs, turning away to focus on his plate.

I help myself to another pancake from the platter in front of us, catching Hazelle's expression. She has an amused smile on her face as her eyes flick between her son and me. The burn in my cheeks is immediate and I hate myself for it. I pretend not to notice that Prim has stopped eating to watch as well.

"Wait," I pause, the strangeness of the morning finally catching up with me. "Aren't you supposed to be at work?" I look back at Gale. "And all of you, at school?" I wave my fork at Vick, Rory, Posy, and Prim.

Gale scoots his chair back, patting the window with his hand. I already understand before he swallows another round of pancakes and explains.

"Blizzard's still going strong. Peacekeeper told me to turn around. The mines were closed."

The blizzard is both a blessing and a curse. I am thrilled to have the extra time with Gale, but as the day passes, we become restless, agitated even. We are creatures of action, so confined to this house for hours on end is a different kind of torture. I manage to stay busy, helping my mother clean up breakfast, rotate loads of laundry, and strip all the beds of their sheets. Gale cornered me in my bedroom, claiming he was so bored he could barely stand it, but what we had in mind for entertainment didn't last long. Prim had poked her head in the doorway saying dinner was going to be early and even though she only saw Gale with his arms loaded full of sheets and me folding the comforter, her stare was just a little too long to not be skeptical.

The snow slows considerably around dinner. By the end of the meal, it's barely flurrying and I can see across the square of the Victor's Village to the other uninhabited houses. The observation disappoints me. I had quickly warmed to the idea of the Hawthornes and Everdeens under the same roof.

As the rest of our families retreat to the living room, Gale and I hang back in the kitchen. There's a lot of poking and hushed giggles during our moment of privacy but then Gale takes my hand and his face turns serious.

"If we're going to run, we should have a plan," he says.

I nod, rise to retrieve a pad and paper, and together we start listing the necessary supplies we will need. Our heads are bent together in a clandestine, intimate way when Peeta walks in the kitchen, shaking snow from his ashy blond hair.

"Am I interrupting?" Peeta eyes us, the smile fading from his face when Gale and I exchange a pointed look.

"Peeta, why don't you sit?" I say.

He does, and waits patiently for me to collect my thoughts. I'm not sure why I suddenly feel nervous, but my hands are clammy and my mouth is dry.

"Gale and I…" I stop almost immediately, and regret the unfortunate place to pause, because my guilty conscience flashes a series of mental images that suggests I finish that sentence in a way I definitely did not have in mind. I grit my teeth. "We're going to run."

"Run? Away from the district?"

"No, right around the block," Gale retorts. I shoot Gale a warning look.

Peeta's eyes dart from me to Gale to me, as if waiting for the punch line to some terrible joke. I wince when his shock finally breaks through.

"What? Are you insane?" he practically shouts.

"Keep your voice down," Gale warns, glancing warily towards the living room. "We haven't told anyone else yet."

"You're bringing them too!" His voice trails off at the end, making his statement sound more like a question. Peeta takes my hand, not really meaning anything by it, but I feel Gale stiffen next to me. "Katniss, this is crazy talk! What if you get caught? You're endangering yourselves, and Prim…"

The sound of my sister's name snaps me, and suddenly I'm snarling, barely able to keep my voice down.

"It's not like I want this to be the answer, Peeta! But staying here, not able to live my life the way I want, always catering to them…" I shake my head, anger boiling throughout me. "I won't play their Games anymore, and I can't let anyone get hurt because of me."

"If you do as they say, no one gets hurt," Peeta says, though the wind is out of his sails. It takes me a second to realize how what I said must have sounded to him.

"That's not true," I whisper. "You know that."

An awkward silence fills the room, made even more so when Gale takes my hand. I want to pull away for Peeta's sake, but for what? My tip-toeing around is helping no one and it's really not like he doesn't already know.

"She… We wanted to extend the offer to you," Gale says after a moment. "If you want it."

Peeta looks up, his usually peaceful face rearranged in pure fury.

"Thanks for the consideration," he spits, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "If I want… like I have a choice."

"It's your call…" I start.

"No, it's not my call, Katniss!" Peeta says. "If I stay, if my family stays, and you run off, they'll come looking for you! And the first place they'll start is me!"

I can't even look at him, I feel so ashamed. Peeta sighs, his chair screeching across the tile when he stands. Gale and I let him pace because… Well let's face it. The last two people he probably wants to hear from are us. I don't know how much time has passed before he sits back down. Only then does my curiosity get the best of me and I risk a glance.

Peeta stares into the table, seeing something far away, and then takes the list from beneath my hand. Neither Gale or I attempt to stop him. He scans the list quickly, the furrow of his forehead fading away as his concentration kicks in.

"It's going to take a while to gather this. And we'll have to split it so it doesn't look too suspicious," Peeta says, finally.

My shoulders slump in visible relief and Gale leans back, running a hand through his dark hair.

"Thank you, Peeta," I say.

"Don't thank me yet. We've still got…"

A loud authoritative knock steals the words from his mouth. We all tense, nobody daring to check for fear it's a Peacekeeper, listening to the soft padding of someone – most likely my mother—crossing the foyer to answer the door. I strain to hear the voice in case I can place it but can't make out anything other than mumbling.

"Katniss!"

I jump, visibly on edge, and both Gale and Peeta stand when I do. Together, we slowly walk to the entrance. My heart feels like it's going to leap through my throat as I round the corner. The excitement on my mother's face as she bounds forward to take my hands and pull me towards the door eases some of my unease, though I'm still wary.

"Look, Katniss!" She points.

A large wooden crate sits in the snow. Two mail carriers leave fresh prints in the snow as they retreat to one of the few trucks commonly seen in District 12. I look back down to the box, it's huge! Gale gently moves me to the side so he can help Peeta move it inside. The more I stare, the more I get the uncomfortable feeling that this is not a happy surprise.

"Oh look, it's from the Capitol!" I look up to see Prim clapping excitedly, her face beaming. "Hurry, Katniss. Open it!"

My hands feel numb and clumsy as I grip the slats, pulling at them with some force. I struggle for a moment before they give. The rest follow with a little more effort. When I let myself look back in, everyone has crowded around.

My wedding dresses have arrived.

_~Fin_


	6. Chapter 6

_September 5__th__, 2011_

_Note: I apologize for the lack of a recent update. I was out of town for the week and didn't have the time to write. I tried to make this a long post for bearing with me and enduring the wait. The M rating comes back at the end, so be warned. As always, your reviews are greatly appreciated!_

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><p>Shooting each dress is an event in itself. For me, specifically, it's a study in patience. As Octavia, Venia, and Flavius circle me like a pack of ravenous wild dogs, I learn of the hardships they have suffered since the Victory Tour. No seafood. No music chips. No ribbons. In my head, I translate the products to their corresponding districts, feeling my face pale as I count. Four, three, eight again. Venia tries to blame bad weather and shipping issues. I know better. The thought of the spreading rebellion brings bile and acid to my mouth. For a second, I smell the phantom scent of blood and roses and I want to gag. Forcing myself to breathe deeply, I manage to fight my roiling stomach, though I'm not convincing Octavia who mistakes my hyperventilation for bridal nerves.<p>

"Oh, you poor dear," she coos, clutching my face between her green hands. "Don't worry, Peeta's going to adore you in this!"

Peeta's name doesn't bring me any relief. Instead, I feel ashamed that I wasn't worrying for his safety, although I've dragged him headfirst into this mess. And now, subjecting him to this pageantry, modeling bridal gowns in predetermined fairy tale settings, parading before him when he knows there's someone else I'd rather parade for. Thinking of Gale only makes me despair more.

I was numb for the first dress. I'm not really sure whether that was partially from the excessive body makeover I was subjected to, or if I was simply shutting down into "District mode" as Gale calls it to prevent myself from an embarrassing, and perhaps traitorous, outburst.

When my prep team falls away, revealing their second creation in the mirror, I blink, a little confused, because the girl staring back at me, I actually recognize this time. The simple strapless gown of ivory satin clings impossibly well to my body before flaring out just past my hips. My dark hair is pulled away from my face and cascades down my back in a shower of soft curls. A few stray strands delicately hang to frame my face. It's stunning, but my make-up is what impresses me the most.

Cinna's chosen a natural look for this dress and as I take in the prepared set, I can easily see why. Earthen tones on my eyelids serve to lighten the gray in my eyes and enhance the chestnut highlights of my hair. Much of the color palette is reflected in our made-over foyer that stands in as the shooting stage. Greenery surrounds me, creating the illusion of a forested glen. Cinna barks to someone to adjust the lighting, and as it dims, rays of golden light filter down to mimic the sun shining through the summer canopy. Muted shades of green, gold, and brown dance across the ivory fabric and my tan skin. I catch a glimpse of the full effect as the mirror is wheeled by and my mouth falls open. I look like a forest enchantress. _If only he could see this…_

The thought is formed before I fully comprehend that the _he_ I am thinking of is not the _he_ Octavia reassured me about. A twinge of guilt lodges in the pit of my stomach. I'm trying not to think of the uncomfortable truce both Gale and Peeta have somehow agreed to over the past week. In my moment of weakness, I duck my eyes and barely hear Cinna's command to hold that pose. He later tells me that I nailed that look of demure innocence, a perfect contrast to the immediate wildness of the set. Right now, I try to block the vision of a wooded wedding, but the more I fight it, the more excruciatingly clear the details become.

Somehow I manage to smile when I'm asked – _feel the gentle warm summer evening breeze – _be wistful when they suggest – _small hands folded into his, rough and capable –_ be serious and stern when they command – _the stormy passion clouding his beautiful gray eyes –_ be alluring because I'm thinking of him – _his not-so-subtle smirk promising not-so-subtle things…_

The rest of the shoot drags on and I'm only vaguely aware of the following four dresses I'm molded into. The creamy lace and rose set are too merchant and charming for a Seam girl like me. The heavy silk with long sleeves, dramatic make-up, and complicated hairstyle are much too Capitol. The sheath of diamonds sparkling underneath the faux moonlit set lights draw sighs of admiration from my mother and Prim. The growing anxiety twists and chafes inside me. By the last dress, I'm so claustrophobic and desperate for release, I'm practically crawling the walls for a way out. The need to see Gale is completely irrational and entirely consuming, I'm aching inside.

I feel truly like a girl on fire when Cinna snaps me back into reality with a cold cloth on my face. I jump visibly.

"Sorry," he says, gently dabbing and erasing the make-up from my face. "Coldness helps rejuvenate the skin after all that powder."

I nod, mutely, relishing the sharp contrast of the cool compresses compared to the rest of my body. Shifting restlessly, the fire in my core flares in mockery. I no longer see the words of Effie's note that I hold in the hands. It's already showing signs of wear because of my unfolding and rereading and refolding. I feel sick at the thought of the Capitol intruding into my private life as well. The whole week had been a whirlwind of prep and workers in and out of the house. I had snapped at Haymitch when he caught me trying to sneak out for a moment of peace, for a moment with Gale.

"Are you alright?" Cinna sets down the cloth, his eyes searching my face.

"I… I'm just thinking about… something."

"Peeta?" he asks, and by the way he asks it I know it's because it's the question he should ask, not the one he wants to ask.

I don't reply.

"Ah, I see," Cinna says. He takes a step back, crossing one arm over his chest, the other holding his chin. "The handsome cousin?"

Heat blossoms over my neck and cheeks immediately. My ears burn. I wince at the phrase even though it's said with compassion and sympathy, not with the malice and foreboding that my mind replays in perfect detail. Cinna's expression draws out my confirmation.

"I need to see him," I whisper. I hate the way it sounds like a sin.

Cinna studies me for a moment before saying, "Wait here." He turns to leave the room and returns almost instantly carrying a small garment bag and a palette of makeup. I eye him warily, though I don't protest. "Do you trust me?"

"Yes," I say, with only a hint of hesitation.

Cinna smiles, opening the makeup kit and selecting a brush I don't know the name of but I recognize is meant for eyes. "Don't worry, you'll still look like you."

I watch Cinna go to work then, quickly and confidently selecting colors that he blends around my eyes. The combination of browns and grays soften and intensify the colors in my eyes. The gel he massages into my hair relaxes the intense curls of my last updo into long flowing waves. Cinna worries my tresses with his fingers, artfully teasing them into a messy texture that he then smoothes with a finishing serum. Somehow he's captured perfectly how my hair looks after I release it from my braid. He steps aside to let me take it all in.

He's recreating that forest enchantress but with a more subdued quality. It takes me another few seconds to realize that he's showcasing me.

"Cinna," I breathe. "Thank you."

He beams, unzipping the garment bag with a knowing grin. "One more thing." Delicately he takes out two thin pieces of a black shimmery material. My face erupts with crimson when he holds them up for me to see.

A black lacy bra and matching panties. They're incredibly beautiful and incredibly sultry at the same time. He drops them into my hands and I bashfully whisper thanks, running my fingers over the silky fabric. It's sheer and slightly reflective. Probably some creative ingenuity Cinna added to achieve some special effect.

"I was supposed to save this for after the wedding, but I wonder if you might be able to put them to use sooner." He fixes me with a pointed look and friendly smile, which only leaves me stuttering , flustered and embarrassed.

"Cinna… I… Thanks… I mean…"

"Oh go change already you worthless thing!" he laughs, shooing me out of the room.

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><p>I am almost to Gale's house when I begin to feel completely ridiculous. A thin strand of smoke rises from the house chimney and only one of the small windows is still illuminated. I hope Gale is still up, because if he's not and Hazelle answers the door, this could be awkward.<p>

My mother asked me where I was headed as I pulled on my thick wool coat. I had this great story of staying up at our house in the Seam to get a head start for hunting tomorrow. I'd have to rise much earlier if I left from the Victor's Village. Instead, I stumbled all over my rehearsed response, and though, she didn't object, I could tell by her face that she suspected another reason.

Hazelle does answer the door, but I see Gale rise quickly behind her so I don't feel too badly.

"Katniss," she says, surprised. "Come in, come in." She ushers me inside their cramped family room. My mouth goes dry when I catch Gale's eyes.

"Is everything alright?" Hazelle asks, breaking into our staring contest.

I swallow cotton and nod. "Yeah, um… I just needed to get out of the house for a bit." Hazelle accepts this instantly, but Gale raises an eyebrow, and I know he doesn't buy my explanation entirely. "I was also thinking I would stay up at my house tonight to be closer to the woods…"

"Surely, you're not staying by yourself!" Hazelle wrings her hands in front of her, a nervous habit I've seen many times. "I know you can take care of yourself but…" She looks from me to Gale, and I can see the thought forming before she voices it. "Gale, you should go. Stay with her, just in case."

Gale's bewilderment is short-lived, but he recovers quickly.

"I'll get my stuff," he says.

Gale returns with his hunting bag loaded with his overnight things just as I'm insisting to Hazelle that we don't need any food.

"We'll check the snare line tomorrow and see if anything's around to hunt," Gale says. "I'm not sure when we'll be back." He still hasn't taken his eyes off me, and I let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, I can do this.

"I don't worry about you two together as much as when either of you go alone," Hazelle says. She smiles and gently touches my hair. "But be careful."

Gale and I say our goodnights, stepping out into the cold night. The minute the door shuts, I can feel the energy zing between us. The sudden urge to touch Gale is overwhelming, but I set my jaw and start walking, hearing him fall into pace beside me. I'm practically stomping through the snow, my hands balled determinedly at my sides, my breath puffing in front of me in quick bursts. It reminds me of the dragons father told me about when I was little. I feel like I understand what it must be like to breathe fire.

Gale doesn't say anything, even when I fumble with the keys in the lock. He covers my hands with one of his, and I pull back, as if stung, because his touch is like electricity. I stare at him and try to remember that slamming him into the door and growling to _just forget the damn keys!_ is not part of the plan. Gale opens the door, gestures for me to go first. Somehow I manage to walk by him. Barely.

In the darkness, I hear Gale set down his bag, feel him shuffle towards me. When he closes his arms around me, I lean into his solid warm strength. "What's wrong, Katniss?" he whispers against my hair.

I look up to find his eyes, feeling my nose brush against his chin and lips, our faces are so close. I can just make out how they flicker between mine, searching, worried. My hand finds the back of his head, pulling him down to me.

"I need you," I say, kissing him deeply, slowly, savoring the contact and the control. I pull away after a long moment, and he leans in for another kiss, but I press fingers to his lips and shake my head. "…to start a fire."

I wish I could see his expression, or maybe I wish that he could see mine. That kiss has already eased the desperation a bit and I feel less frayed and unraveled. But Gale is still Gale, and he's not willing to play my game so easily.

His mouth finds the soft skin below my ear and he reels me in, asking, "Haven't I already?"

_Yes_, I think, yielding to his come on. But I force myself to go rigid, though it's immensely more difficult than I expect. Gale pulls back, studying me, a frown on his face I'm sure. I smile as a huff of frustration escapes him.

"Trust me, it'll be worth your while."

I disentangle myself from him because if he decides to override my orders a second time, I won't win the battle to resist again. He watches me turn away – I can practically feel the heat of his gaze against my back—but I shrug out of my wool coat and start pulling sheets from my hunting bag. Even in my Gale-induced yearning, I'd remembered to be practical.

Gale gets the fire to catch on the first strike of the flint, and I smile, amused. With a little motivation, he can get anything on the first try. As I tuck the sheets around the mattress, I allow myself glances over, admiring the graceful pull of his tunic across his back with each log he adds. Soon, the hearth is roaring and he turns, rising with his hands on his hips.

"Okay, now what?" Gale asks, arrogantly smirking at me. I don't think he intends to be ordered around more, but I'm nowhere near done with him. The fact that I won the first round has only fueled my confidence and I'm a little dizzy with the intoxication of my power over him. I point to the bed beside me.

"Sit," I command. "Boots off."

He doesn't move. I grit my teeth against his stubborn maleness and decide to play dirty. I don't smile at him and ask again. I glare, stepping out of my own boots, stripping off my socks, and finally shimmying out of my pants, hoping he catches a glimpse of the black lace. His face changes instantly from smugness to astonishment, assuring me he did. Good.

I point again the bed, and manage not to laugh as Gale all but trips over himself to get there. His boots drop to the floor with a thunk. His eyes never leave my face as I slink toward him. His hands reach for me and I grab them, squeezing gently and sliding my hands up his arms and across his shoulders to the top button of his shirt. I check to see if I still have his attention. I do.

Button by button, I work my way down his front, moving slowly, resolutely. Shamelessly, my hands rove up his abdomen and chest, and I brush his shirt off his broad shoulders. When it falls behind him, I toss it to the floor. I want to touch every inch of him, he's so beautiful. _Later_, I think. _Now it's your turn_. I reach for the bottom of my sleep shirt, inching it higher over my legs, my stomach, before disposing of it with a sweep over my head.

Gale's trying hard to keep his breathing steady and even, but it hitches a little each time his eyes rake down my body, now clad only in the black lace. He is completely mesmerized and I glance down not quite believing I'm having this kind of effect.

"Oh…" I gasp. The translucence I noticed back in the bedroom is clearly evident in the firelit room, but for a different reason. Reds and oranges flicker across the black lacy surface and once again, Cinna has created the girl on fire. But it's not an overbearing blaze of fury, he's managed to capture the slow smolder of passion.

Gale's fingers are under my chin, forcing me to look up. "You're right," he breathes against my lips. "It was worth my while."

"I'm not even done yet." I smile down at him, pressing him back on the bed. My hair hangs to one side in a dark curtain, my hands and legs straddling him like a human bridge. I dip my head for a long lingering kiss, letting my chest graze his, when he groans, releasing my mouth to wreak havoc on his neck. I alternate, wetly kissing and lightly touching, across the muscles of his chest and abdomen. I am fascinated by the faces he makes. The way his eyes flutter when I draw the backs of my fingers across the ridges of his stomach. The slight parting of his mouth when I lick the lines defining each muscle. I like it even better when I suddenly sit up, resting partially on his stomach, letting him feel the moistness between my legs, and he says my name in a long throaty moan.

It gives the boost I need to do what I had planned next. When I swing my leg over, I pretend I don't hear him protest, a protest that is silenced when I hook my fingers into the waistband of his pants. I wait for him to lift his hips – he does quickly—and I yank both them and his undershorts down, working them off his legs entirely. Slithering back up him, I pause before slowly closing my hands around him, steeling myself to be braver, bolder.

My stomach is doing flip-flops when I place a gentle kiss on the tip of him, starting a little when he gasps loudly. Looking up, I see Gale has propped himself on his elbows, watching me intently. His scrutiny makes me self-conscious and I can't help myself.

"Did I do something wrong?"

"No!" he says, a little too quickly. I narrow my eyes at him. "No, that was… good."

The smile breaks across my face and I give him a quick stroke that makes his head snap back. I kiss again and again, until I finally get the nerve to taste him fully. The strangled cry would have unnerved me if I didn't recognize it. The sound is exactly the same one I made when he worked his magic within me. I continue licking, and kissing, and sucking, and sliding—it's easy to tell when I do something well based on the sounds he makes—until suddenly Gale's hands frantically tug at my hair.

"Katniss, Katniss, Katniss, stop!"

I freeze, releasing him instantly. His eyes are shut tight and there's a light sheen on his forehead. Gale lets out a shaky breath and I panic.

"What? Gale? I'm sorry."

He shakes his head, opening his eyes. "No, it's not like that… I…" He looks away embarrassed. "You were just… doing a very good job."

My hammering heart slows down a half a tick when I finally understand. I nod and crawl back up to kiss him reverently. I've never seen Gale flushed but I wish it was a sight I'd seen more often. Suddenly, I feel a lump form in my throat when I think that I don't see him often enough. As if sensing the change in my mood, his hand comes to find my cheek, his thumb passing beneath my eye.

"Hey," he says.

I feel the burn low in my stomach, and the burn flare in my chest, as I stare into his searching eyes. The want slams into me full force and I feel my body involuntarily grind against him, my lace panties soaked through.

"Make me yours," I whisper. "I don't want to be _theirs_ anymore."

Gale doesn't have to ask me to know who I meant. There's a flash of anger in his eyes, in the way his jaw sets determinedly, in the way he flips us over, trapping me beneath him. His kisses and touches are rough and desperate. I can feel the marks he leaves, and that's okay, because they're _his._ I start to slide the strap of my bra off when he rids me of the black lace below, but he stills my hand.

"Leave it," he growls. The harshness of his command makes my core twist with desire. I can feel him, hard and heavy, against my thigh. He locks eyes with me, mouths a silent "I love you" and drives forward. We come together with audible cries, my arms clenching around his neck as the force of his thrust slides me a few inches up the mattress.

Gale's relishing a little too long for my patience and I rock my hips, surprised by the purring rumble that leaves the back of my throat. He bucks involuntarily in response and groans my name again. I could listen to him do that all day.

He lets me set a rhythm but I welcome the chance to relieve the throbbing in me. He feels wonderful but I increase my pace searching for that something more. I'm starting to get frustrated all over, when Gale grips my waist and stops me from moving. He shifts, sliding out of me, and I whimper pathetically.

"Please, Gale." I'll even beg, I'm such a wreck.

He smirks, tipping my waist up a little, and presses back in. The slight adjustment leaves me seeing white behind my lids and I'm not sure if the noise I make was meant to be a word or just an incomprehensible moan. He moves twice more when I feel more wetness pool between my legs and Gale grunts in satisfaction. Our bodies slide effortlessly together, slick with sweat, the smell of desire a heady addition to the woodsy scent unique to Gale. I don't know if it's the anticipation of knowing what's coming but when I fall apart, I think it's even better than before.

I scream as the spasms tear my inside out and a moment later, I'm rewarded when Gale bucks sharply.

"Katniss," he groans, his body shaking in shuddering tremors. He collapses, burying his face into my neck, spent, and I stroke his back, savoring the warmth flooding throughout me. When he rolls off, I snuggle up to him, my head resting on his chest. The steady thud, thud, thud of his heart lulls me towards oblivion and I give in willingly.

_~Fin_


	7. Chapter 7

_November 20__th__, 2011_

_A/N: This chapter has been in the works for quite some time and I apologize for the long long wait. I did not forget about my story. I did not abandon it to be lost among the vast amounts of long forgotten web pages. Unfortunately, life sometimes gets in the way of my creativity. I will do my best to post more often, though I cannot promise routine updates._

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><p>The woods are peacefully quiet this early in the morning. Still and tranquil, as if the lazy Sunday morning has permeated the fence of District 12 and settled throughout the forest. The sun is just beginning to rise, though it hasn't yet crossed the horizon. The snowy forest floor is tinted a beautiful gray blue, the trees a dark contrast in the pre-dawn light, their shadows a deeper slate across the snow.<p>

My breath spirals in a long stream in front of my face. I want to shift my position because my leg feels numb beneath me. Whether from being folded against an icy tree limb or from being pinned under my weight, I'm not sure. I don't dare move though. I climbed a little higher than was probably safe given the icy brittle branches. Gale had shot me a disapproving stare as I settled high in the ash, but I knew my vantage point would be better from higher up.

The frigid air prevents my sleepy eyes from drooping. I didn't realize how exhausting last night had been until Gale had woken me from a deep slumber. He had laughed softly at my bleary eyes and my feeble attempt to lure him back under the covers. He had laughed harder when he suggested late nights like that were too much for me to handle and I glared sullenly before throwing a pillow at him.

My eyes find Gale perched in a tree not far from mine. He scans the surrounding forest floor with such intensity that it sends an involuntary tremor up my spine. My cheeks burn when I remember the effect that intense stare has when focused on me. I close my eyes and breathe slowly to bring my racing heart back under control.

A soft whistle breaks through the silence. My eyes widen instantly at Gale's alert. His arm is outstretched, pointing to my far left. At first, I don't see what he has spotted but a patient second brings the rabbit into my view. It is snow white and almost completely camouflaged against the snow. Its slow foraging movement was its fatal mistake.

I lean back against the tree's main trunk for support and to open my angle. Stringing my bow and drawing it taut in one fluid motion, I inhale deeply, waiting for my hands to steady at the apex of the breath. Then I let go.

My arrow zips lethally through the still morning air and lodges directly through the rabbit's eye. The slight smile on my face widens when Gale stares at me, the same look of excitement on his face. White rabbit furs are double price when undamaged. He slips silently from his perch to retrieve my kill. His game bag is already loaded with three other rabbits and two squirrels. Not a bad haul for a late winter morning.

I watch him pull the arrow from the white rabbit, wiping the tip on some snow before burying the evidence of the kill. Blood scent carries and drives other animals away. He motions me to come down though I'm already extricating myself, having anticipated his recall. Our seamless communication floors me momentarily. It shouldn't but maybe I'm just more aware of Gale on a whole different level that makes our partnership seem like a novelty.

By the time I reach him, he's already attached a brown rabbit to his belt and placed the white rabbit into his bag. White rabbits cause a stir at the Hob much like a deer does. We learned that three winters ago the hard way.

"Ready to head back?" Gale asks. He smiles broadly, the dimples in his cheeks tinged with a hint of red from the cold winter air. My face feels stiff when it returns the grin, and I see Gale angle forward. For a moment, I think he might kiss me, but his stomach rumbles loudly and he's pulling away, laughing.

"Last one to the Hob has to trade the white rabbit!"

The panic that rose so suddenly deflates like air let out of a balloon, as my competitive instincts kick in at the sight of Gale's retreating back. It takes only seconds for me to catch up, though I get the feeling that Gale wasn't trying to outrun me at all.

* * *

><p>The outside of the Hob looks barren and abandoned. Despite the early hour, I know the inside is already bustling with vendors and merchants hoping to trade. Sunday mornings are always busy, and usually, Gale and I can get some good bidding wars started.<p>

Gale's stomach rumbles loudly as he slides open the elephant doors enough to allow us to slip through. I poke him gently in the tunic and smile cheekily up at him before walking into the warehouse-turned-black-market. "Come on, Hawthorne. Before you start eating those rabbits raw."

Gale huffs, but there's a smile teasing at his face. "One round of rabbit fever taught me that lesson."

We wind our way through the throngs of people admiring wares spread over tables or blankets. A few of the regulars greet us with an acknowledging nod. We don't stop to talk business. Greasy Sae's soup stand was our first stop, regardless of Gale's hunger.

She beams a toothy grin when Gale and I find stools at her table, waiting patiently as she ladles Darius a steaming bowl of something that smells wonderful. The red-headed Peacekeeper dives into his breakfast the second it's set in front of him.

"What'll it be, you two?"

I've always liked Greasy Sae's straightforwardness. It's reliable and comforting. For a moment, it feels like a normal Sunday before those dreaded Games.

"Two cups of soup," Gale says, "and then we can deal."

"Squirrels?" Greasy Sae asks, turning to her steaming pot. She reaches for the smaller cups.

"Make it two bowls," I say.

Gale's look of shock twists into a scowl when he sees me reach into my pocket for some coins. It's not that he doesn't want the larger portion; he'd just rather I not pay for it. I bite my tongue to keep from starting an argument we've yet to resolve. Ever since I was awarded my winnings, I insisted on helping Gale's family in any way I could. My mother, Prim, and I certainly had more than we could ever hope to need and it sickened me to know that Gale still worked twelve hours days to feed his family. I'm still not sure whether his aversion to my help is because it was Capitol given, or that he's ashamed to take the help. I make a mental note to discuss the issue again later.

His expression melts when Greasy Sae sets a huge bowl in front of him. I watch him swallow hard around a mouthful, wincing as the piping broth slides down his throat.

"Is this beef?" Gale asks, eyebrows raised in disbelief.

"Yup, Rooba had an older cut she couldn't sell," Greasy Sae replies, pocketing the coins I slid her direction.

The confirmation sends Gale and me diving into our bowls, choking down the hot liquid in big quick gulps. The heavy stew is like a warming balm to our frozen bodies. Even though food is not as scarce as before, we still appreciate a chunk of good meat. Despite my rapid shoveling, Gale stills finishes his bowl before I do.

"We have rabbit and squirrel today," Gale says, sliding his bowl back across the counter.

"Any rabbit worth stewing?" Greasy Sae asks.

"A jack."

I know that Gale knows perfectly well that jack rabbits tend to be less tender, and thus less desired for food than a doe. I also know that Greasy Sae can stew anything and it doesn't really make a difference to her what she throws in her pot. Gale does too.

"Naw, doe tastes better," Greasy Sae scoffs.

"True," Gale says. "But you could raise your price for jack rabbit stew especially if you market its leaner meat to the merchants."

I look to Greasy Sae, a slow nod as if I were contemplating this idea for the first time. Her wrinkled eyes wrinkle more as she studies me and Gale skeptically. We do not flinch and are rewarded when her toothy smile breaks through.

"Ah, I see I can't pull one over on Gale here now that you're back, Katniss," she laughs. "Practically robbed the poor boy while you were away."

Rolling his eyes, Gale reaches into his game bag and quickly hands the jack over to Greasy Sae. She bobs the rabbit slightly on an outstretched arm, gauging the weight before offering a trade.

"All right I'll take it. Three coin."

"Five coin," Gale counters. "It's not spring yet."

Greasy Sae scowls slightly. "With two _bowls_ free next weekend."

"Might die in the mines by then," Gale quips. I wince, at the harshness of his words. Though he makes it sound as if it were nothing, I detect the slight edge to his words.

"Four coin. Last offer."

Gale looks to me, though he doesn't really need my confirmation to accept. I nod.

"Deal. Four coin."

Greasy Sae retrieves the money from the satchel she carries on her at all times. Gale scoops it into his pocket and smiles charmingly, thanking her for the soup and her business. She merely shoos us away, muttering something about handsome and softness.

As we walk towards the center of the trading, I lightly elbow Gale in the ribs. "You didn't really let Greasy Sae rob you, right?" I ask.

"Of course not," Gale snorts. "I just let her think that she did."

We decide to split up. I think Gale's a better haggler than me so I insist he trades our game. Besides, even though I'm not really comfortable with the weight of the coins on my hip, I doubt Gale would want to use my victory money to purchase anything. The thought reminded me of my resolve to discuss the issue of him accepting my help. It makes me uneasy and I push it back in my mind as I approach the merchant stall I'm looking for.

The man behind the spread of goods greets me with a wide grin and I feel a flare of resentment in my chest. A few months ago, he would've shooed away a poor little Seam girl ogling his wares. Thanks to the Capitol, I'm treated like royalty. The mask of indifference slips into a slight sneer, but I'm able to refocus my anger and step up to study his table.

"Those are made from the latest technology from the Capitol," the man drawls, as I finger some folded blankets. "Guaranteed to reflect heat and maintain comfortable temperatures in even the most frigid weather."

I nod as if I am listening, but I already know all of this. After all, I had firsthand experience in the arena. He's babbling on about the manufacturer or something to that effect, when I glance up, and interrupt.

"Do you have sleeping bags made from this?"

He clasps his hands together in almost uncontained glee and says, "Oh yes, of course. One second, Miss."

I would have never been addressed as Miss before the Games either.

"Heat reflecting sleeping bags?" a smooth voice whispers too close to my ear for comfort. I wheel around instantly, backing up into the table and causing it to rattle with my frantic motion. My eyes find Darius, the red-headed Peacekeeper, smiling at me. For a second, I see Foxface and her sly smile in his face.

"You know there are other ways to stay warm at night," he teases. He reaches out towards my braid and I duck my shoulder out of the way. Something like panic twists my stomach and for some reason I don't fully comprehend, I feel extremely uncomfortable under Darius' leering stare. I really shouldn't. Despite my abhorrence at his post-duty activities with the females of District 12, Darius isn't to be feared. Still, it takes a lot of deep breathing to simply turn toward the table and maintain my composure.

"No comment, Miss Everdeen?" he asks, standing entirely too close for comfort.

"No interest," I manage. My mouth feels like I swallowed cotton.

"Oh right. I forgot about Peeta."

My head whips around much too quickly and I force a pleasant smile to my face when I realize I am scowling. I can see Darius notices the strange visceral reaction, but doesn't quite understand the truth behind it.

"Here you are, Miss." The merchant man lays a stack of sleeping bags in front of me and I study them intently, thankful for a respite from Darius' inquiring watch. There are six sleeping bags total. It would look suspicious if I bought all of them when everyone knows that it's just me, my mother, and Prim.

"I'll take three."

"They're ten each."

I don't have to ask to know he means ten gold coins. As I drop them into his outstretched hand, it dawns on me that the Capitol is financing my escape. I can't block the genuine smile that breaks out across my face at the irony.

"Ah, now there's my Katniss."

Darius is incorrigible. The hunt is on again in his mind. I sigh and begin packing the bags into my game bag, wondering whether it is better to ignore the comment or engage it when…

"Katniss doesn't belong to _you_."

Hands clenched tightly to his side, Gale stood glaring brazenly at Darius. I watch his jaw working in time with his building rage and I wanted to walk to his side, take his hand in mine and anchor him before he let loose. Gale angry in the woods was one thing. Gale angry in the Hob was entirely something else. Instead, I freeze, too afraid to incriminate either one of us.

"Come on, Hawthorne. I'm only teasing." Darius fixes Gale with a smile, one that he probably believes is soothing, friendly, not infuriating like it is.

"Yeah?" Gale takes an angry step forward, and I do too. My hands lower awkwardly when I am aware that I reached out in the first place. It is only when Gale leans down that I notice the size differential between him and the peacekeeper. "Well don't." The last word snaps with menace.

People start to watch the confrontation with a morbid fascination. If there was one thing I knew not to do, it was to attract attention to myself in District 12, much less the black market.

"Gale," I say, my voice shaking with apprehension. I give in and grab his arm when I receive no response. "Gale, forget it. It's not a big deal." I tug. He doesn't budge. "Gale?"

"You heard her. Let's just forget this happened," Darius says. It sounds like a taunt, even to me. "It's not like she belongs to you either."

It's a good thing I can practically anticipate Gale's movements before he even knows he's going to make them. I'm able to see the lurch forward and manage to wedge myself between him and Darius, deflecting Gale's raised arm from the peacekeeper's cheek to wrap around my shoulders. My presence seems to cool the rage because Gale's grip tightens around me as his body visibly relaxes. The crowd sits back too, as if letting out a collective breath. Then their eyes start to wander.

For once, I feel uncomfortable tucked under Gale's protective embrace. I can see the judgment on a few of the gawking faces; the snake-like voice that seems to rise on its own sends a bolt of fear down my spine.

"_Convince me_."

"Let's go," I say, extricating myself from his grip and heading back down the long aisle of stalls in one motion.

Gale doesn't follow immediately, still locked in a staredown with Darius. I'm hesistating and wondering whether to physically retrieve him, when he turns around and stalks toward me. I match his brisk clip step for step, out the heavy sliding door, and towards the Victor's Village. As the adrenaline and relief start to fade from my veins, I feel a slow burn building in my own stride. There are moments when I wish I was not so in tune with Gale, because I sometimes feel as though I feed off his rage.

By the time we reach my front door, I can sense the storm on the horizon.

Dropping my purchase haphazardly in the hallway, I follow him into the kitchen, folding my arms across my chest, bracing for the break.

"'I mean, who does he think he is?" Gale fumes. He's pacing the length of the counter, fumbling with his game bag, every so often removing an item. I take stock of the dried jerky and salt and despite the impending implosion, I still appreciate his selections.

"It's sickening. It's so just…"

He stops midstride and takes in my tense stance. His eyes narrow.

"Doesn't it bother you?"

My temper snaps feeding off his frustration like fuel devouring oil.

"Yes, of course it bothers me, Gale! But don't you understand what you've done?"

Gale's eyes widen and he steps closer, his face a look of annoyance and shock.

"What _I've_ done?"

"You can't… You…" My throat constricts threateningly, and I lock down against the sudden sting of tears.

"I can't what, Katniss?"

"You can't just step in and defend me like that. It looks too suspicious and draws attention. And attention is the last thing I need right now!" The tears come anyway. But I've lost all control and there's really no stopping my tirade. "It's dangerous to just give them a reason to watch us. I mean, they already are anyway, and if I don't convince…"

I can't force Snow's name past my lips and choke awkwardly on the terror I feel consuming me inside out. My knees suddenly feel unstable beneath me, though I don't attempt to catch myself as I crumple from the overwhelming flood of emotions.

Gale steps forward, catching me in his arms as I become completely unglued. I cry and mumble nonsense, burying closer to Gale when he tightens his arms around my trembling form.

"I can't lose you," I whisper against his chest.

"You won't," he says, tilting my chin up so I am forced to look at him. His thumb swipes the falling stream of tears from my cheek.

"You can't promise that," I say.

Gale leans close and I think he's about to disagree when he kisses me. At first, it's just a light touch, a gesture meant to comfort and soothe, but I respond feverishly. My hands twist in the hair at the back of his neck, encouraging, my own lips asking and asking. Gale draws my body closer, as our mouths move together, when…

CRASH!

Gale and I separate instantly, and as we take in the ceramic mortar now in a million pieces on the floor, I cannot tell who is more shocked.

Me.

Gale.

Or Prim.

_~Fin_


	8. Chapter 8

_December 12__th__, 2011_

_A/N: The M rating returns here for mature themes. Just a warning. Also, this chapter is a little short, but it doesn't mean big things don't happen. ;) As always, reviews are greatly appreciated!_

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><p>After waiting patiently for what feels like hours, I realize the floor is not going to open up and swallow me whole. Prim's wide blue eyes slowly travel between me and Gale and back, processing. I will my mouth to say something, or my body to move, or anyone to do anything. Gale spins on his heel, his hand finds the back of his neck and his head falls back with a sigh. That's helpful. Prim squeaks and the sound snaps me into focus.<p>

Quickly, I retrieve the dustpan and broom from the closet and the hall and set about sweeping the bits of broken ceramic. Prim's feet stay glued to the floor as I collect the shards, working around her. Her voice comes out when I'm almost done cleaning, but it's so soft I think I may have imagined it.

"I didn't mean to… I'm sorry."

"Oh, Prim," I say, sinking to my knees in front of her. My hands find her narrow shoulders and I give them a slight squeeze. She looks up at me, her lower lip stuck between her teeth. "We're not mad."

"You're not?"

"No, of course not." I smile at her. My eyes flick nervously to Gale, standing now with a sheepish look on his face. He refuses to look at Prim, instead focusing on me, and I can see he's more anxious than my sister. I beckon him to come closer, holding out my hand. He eyes it warily and finally steps over and takes it, squatting down beside us.

Prim beams at both of us, and her smile, as always, is infectious.

"I knew it!" she whispers conspiratorially, poking a finger at us. Then her face falls as she sees the look we exchange. "What about Peeta?"

I close my eyes, swallowing hard, because if I wasn't already feeling horrible about what this meant for Peeta, then Prim was about to open that can of worms and then some. Forcing myself to open my eyes and meet her wide innocent gaze head on, I start to speak, but Gale cuts me off.

"I think he already knows, Prim," Gale says softly, his voice surprisingly gentle. I think there's some regret in it too, and I start to puzzle over this revelation, not even hiding my inquiring stare from Gale, when Prim breaks into my trance.

"I can't tell anyone, can I?" she asks, but she's not really asking. Prim has always been more astute than most give her credit for, and now my heart breaks a little for my sister and the burden we are about to ask her to bear.

"No, little duck," I say. "No one can know."

"Not even Mom?"

I can't find the voice, so I just shake my head. The sorrow in her eyes is devastating, but she squares her shoulders beneath my hands and nods firmly. She is almost thirteen and suddenly she feels like the older sister.

Prim looks to Gale and her hand finds his cheek. He looks at her with wide eyes, mesmerized just like everyone else in District 12 would be if she gave them undivided attention.

"Do you remember what I told you?" she asks. "When we were watching Katniss on television?"

Gale nods ever so slightly. I am fascinated at what is transpiring between my sister and my best friend.

"We promised each other," Prim continues. "I kept mine, and now you get to keep yours."

"I will," Gale says.

I am completely astounded and want desperately to ask for what is going on, but Prim drops her hand, and Gale returns my questioning stare with the slightest shake of his head. Not now, he's saying.

I don't get a chance to find out later either. The Sunday respite disappears, the Hawthornes back to the Seam, the Everdeens stuck in Victor's Village. I do my best to stay busy, walking the snare line every day, helping my mother with cleaning and cooking. I don't particularly enjoy domestic work, but I need to keep my sanity somehow.

To Prim's credit, she plows through my mother's never-ending apothecary chore list, acting like everything is the same old routine when in fact, she knows very well there's something brewing underneath the façade of normalcy. Only once do I catch her eyeing me sadly as I watch the snow fall as another blizzard blows harshly out the bay windows of our kitchen the following Sunday. After she turns to leave, I try to find some resolve to stop my pathetic pining. If only for her sake.

I continue to amass the list of items we will need to run. I follow Gale's line of thinking easily, and add to the stock of salted dried meats he traded for and put in a few additions of my own. Peeta hands me a thin hard piece of bread one day, excitedly showing me its lightness and relatively long shelf life. It's like a cracker only larger and condensed, like a dried pound cake without the sweetness. He thinks he may even be able to flavor some, so we aren't bored with the same exact ration.

By the following Friday, as I sit studying the list and thinking of the growing pile of supplies, I am starting to think this may be a fool's errand. On top of all the stress, I think I'm getting sick too. The past few mornings I've woken completely ravenous and devoured my meals by inhalation, much to the disapproving glare of my mother. Except, an hour passes, and then it all comes back up, leaving me hugging the toilet and feeling feverish. The nausea disappears by the afternoon, though, and I'm careful to eat my subsequent meals more slowly. It seems to work because the vomiting stops, at least until breakfast arrives.

I don't grasp the implications of my on and off sickness until the night Prim comes to me in tears.

"Prim?" I ask, sliding out of bed and wrapping her in my arms. She sniffles quietly and I hold her, thinking she's been scared senseless by some nightmare.

"Shhh," I soothe. "What's wrong?"

"I think I need to show you," she says, choking around sobs.

I follow her to the bathroom and my eyes follow her outstretched finger. A small cloth lies in a heap, a slight red smear marring the white fabric.

"Oh, Prim," I say, and I can't help the small smile that turns up the corner of my mouth. "It's all right. You know this was going to happen one day, right?"

I gather her underwear and start filling the sink with cold water to let them soak. "Right?" I ask, again.

"Yes," Prim replies, sniffing as I bring a cool washcloth to wipe off her tears. "I think it just scared me."

I smile, knowing that similar sense of panic and horror at first. "It's fine, little duck. You'll get used to it."

She hugs me then, and says, "I'm glad you came back Katniss."

I swallow against sudden emotion and press a kiss to her blonde hair. The flustered feeling that drives a pit in my stomach I think is related to the overwhelming love I have for my sister, but as the emotion twists and takes shape, my hands begin to shake with a purposeful dread.

I calmly walk Prim back to bed where she cuddles up against my mother, watching to make sure she truly falls back to sleep. The moment I see her sides rising and falling evenly, I bolt downstairs, practically falling down the steps, and staggering into the kitchen. My hand bats the wall frantically searching for the light switch as I reach for my mother's appointment book.

I flip through the pages until I find the current date and start counting backwards. I count again, and again, and again. It does not change what I am desperately wishing is not true. But my math is correct and I slide to the floor, curling into a ball and rocking gently against the counters. Tears fall silently to my socks as I sit there, wondering how we could have been so stupid.

_~Fin_


	9. Chapter 9

_January 12__th__, 2012_

_Author's Note: I truly apologize for the long wait between updates. I would blame it on holidays and getting back to school, but I actually just struggled writing this chapter. Every once in a while, I get so excited to write a certain scene in a story that it's really hard to form the bridge to get there. I am thrilled with everyone's comments and felt so guilty that I forced myself to finish this chapter. You are all greatly appreciated!_

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><p>Somehow I find my way to bed and fall into a deep dreamless sleep. The morning brings with it a sense of calm. Or maybe just despondent acceptance. Forgetting the bout of vomiting that seems to be a now daily occurrence, the girl staring back at me in the mirror doesn't appear any different on the surface. As I scrutinize my reflection, I feel anesthetized, limbs heavy, body numb. Only Prim's voice cuts through my trance; her shouts for my mother echoing off the downstairs walls. I try not to think of the time when I will answer to that call.<p>

I have half a mind to find Gale and just break the news. I don't see how waiting will help me gain any clarity or change my perception of the situation.

Instead, my knuckles wrap hard on Haymitch's front door.

I knock three times before letting myself in. I hadn't really expected a response anyway.

It still smells like alcohol and something stale, despite Hazelle's multiple attempts to scrub the years and years of abuse from the hardwood and carpet. I swallow past a wave of nausea that sends my head spinning. Stabilizing myself against the wall, I stagger into the kitchen.

Haymitch watches me slump unsteadily into the nearest chair, eyeing me suspiciously, his mug halted halfway to his mouth. He's lucid enough to appreciate that this visit is not the formality of me checking in to make sure he hasn't drowned himself in a puddle of his own filth.

"Drew the short stick, did we, sweetheart?" There's only a slight slur to his words, but he sloshes his drink, and I can smell the liquor laced orange juice from across the table. I absently wonder why he even bothers with adding the juice at all.

Ignoring my roiling insides, I lean forward on crossed arms, never taking my eyes off of him. He interprets the seriousness of my body correctly and mimics my posture, a slight lean to the right the only giveaway to any inebriation. Hopefully, the topic I'm about to discuss will sober him up fully.

"What's the Capitol opinion on children out of wedlock?" My voice is surprisingly steady despite the fact that I'm clutching my elbows in an effort to still my shaking hands.

Haymitch's unkempt eyebrows practically rise off of his face as he leans back in his chair. His weight hits the back heavily and the wooden legs screech across the hardwood floor. He whistles a low tone before fixing me with another piercing stare. I think he gets the impression that this is a hallucination of his intoxication when he eyes his mug with the same suspicious look he had fixed on me.

"You know, they said the key to your success in the arena," Haymitch says – I wince as the memories threaten to break the surface – "was your unpredictability. Don't think I gave that the necessary credit where it was due."

"Haymitch," I say. I refuse to be baited into an argument. There are far more important matters at hand.

"Hypocritical," he says. I frown. "It should be no surprise really. Children out of wedlock are an everyday occurrence in the Capitol, but for the Districts to behave in such a fashion…"

He makes a tsking sound and I feel my face fall. My Seam mask does not slide into place fast enough to hide the slip from Haymitch. I expect a biting remark, but am met with a look of sincere sympathy. I grind my teeth and pick at some dirt beneath my fingernails. I did not come for soothing words and comfort.

"Yup, unpredictable. Wouldn't have thought with your lukewarm sentiments that you and Peeta would have…"

I stop digging the skin of my thumbs and my eyes meet Haymitch's bloodshot gaze with enough truth leaking through to stop his sentence midstream. The tell is enough to show him his mistake. I'm not sure what I'm expecting in the ensuing silence. Certainly not that it would last this long. I'm almost wishing for yelling and screaming when Haymitch rises and crosses to the telephone. He's dialing a number before I find the words to ask what he's doing.

"Calling Peeta," he says, as if it needed no explanation.

"Wait!" I cry, and the outrage I feel welling within me shocks me with its ferocity. This is my secret to share and I'll be damned if Haymitch is the one who starts spreading it. "I haven't even told…"

"QUIET!" For a second, he looks less a mentor and more like the mad raving drunk the Capitol sees every Reaping. I scowl, not sure if I am more upset with being scolded, or that I feel like I feel I should be scolded.

I can hear the dial tone as the line connects and rings once, twice, three times…

"_Hello?"_

"Peeta, are you next door?"

"_Yes…"_

"Get over here. Now."

The phone slams in the cradle.

* * *

><p>Peeta is a saint. He walks into the kitchen so quickly that I suspect he was standing in the other room of Haymitch's house this entire time. If Haymitch had spoken to me like that, I would've intentionally waited an hour before deciding to amble over when I felt I had waited long enough to make my point. Then again, Haymitch would have probably known well enough to just track me down and corner me, so I couldn't escape the inevitable.<p>

Peeta sets a small box of baked goods on the table. The sharp yeast smell makes me mouth water and my stomach revolt. I fight the urge to run to the sink. I have nothing left in me anyway. Pressing my lips together in what I hope looks like a smile is my weak attempt to show Peeta my appreciation. Worry changes his bright blue eyes to a deeper turquoise that cuts through me and I bow my head. I never refuse cheese buns.

"Leave it," Haymitch says, when Peeta starts to remove his coat. "We're going for a walk."

I'm the last out of the house, and the extra second it takes for me to close the door and check the lock forces me to jog a few strides to catch up with Haymitch's long gait. No one tries to break the uneven silence that settles heavily around us. The wind swirls some loose powder around, the small frozen bits stinging my cheeks, and I wrap my coat around me tighter. There's still a sharp edge to the cold air, but the undertones of warmer times ahead feel like spring is reassuring me of its impending arrival.

I do not feel comforted in the least bit, and my wariness probably saves me from starting when Haymitch wheels around to face Peeta and me. Actually, his eyes never waver from me and I start digging in the snow and gravel as if I don't notice his pointed patience. Peeta is at the end of his rope because he's the first to break the silence.

"So what is it I don't know about this time?"

The exasperation in his tone catches me a little off guard and I visibly flinch. Hostility is not something I expect from Peeta and when he shows he is capable of it, I recoil like I've been struck.

"Well out with it sweetheart! We haven't got all day," Haymitch says.

"I'm… I, um…"

It's really only three words, I think. How hard can it be to say them? Impossibly hard, apparently. My cheeks are flushed with an insane amount of heat and suddenly I feel wobbly. My unease makes me want to vanish and with the way the world is swirling, I think I might actually accomplish the task with surprising quickness.

I catch Peeta's beautiful blue eyes and watch them change and soften as he realizes my struggle. He places his two gloved hands on either of my shoulders, grounding me. We both ignore Haymitch's impatient snort.

"It's okay, Katniss," Peeta says softly, encouragingly. Somehow, I believe him.

"I'm pregnant," I say.

Peeta's face pales and I can see him replaying my words over and over. I know he's trying them out and is unsure how to respond because his mind keeps rejecting that I actually said that damning phrase. It takes a lot of effort not to break off his vacant stare, but eventually my embarrassment forces me to look away.

"We'll have to handle this delicately," Haymitch starts.

I'm not sure he's really in the same world that Peeta and I are occupying. Saying such things aloud makes them tangible and overwhelming. Although we're reeling for very different reasons, Peeta and I are both reeling.

"The Capitol is not usually sympathetic to this sort of situation, but you two have them so head over heels in love…

"Is that why you and Gale want to run?" Peeta asks.

"…we should be able to win… excuse me?"

Both sets of eyes are now solely on me and I feel the panic start to rise and clog my throat.

"No," I say. I answer Peeta first. "Gale doesn't even know yet."

Peeta staggers backward and fluidly turns to catch himself. He walks away from us a few feet, his hands finding his hips and his head back, eyes trained on the swirling snow above us. I watch him, my expression one of pain and guilt. I feel horrible for continuing to destroy him with every chance I get.

"You think you can run?" Haymitch is incredulous. Angry this time, not amused at my naiveté.

I don't even look at him.

"You can't just run away from the Capitol! Where are you going to run to?" Haymitch's voice increases with his shock. "The woods?"

He laughs suddenly, the tone of his guffaws biting and sarcastic. I can hear what is not said on those cackles. What a silly girl! What a dumb poor silly girl! Running away from Panem, breaking for the woods!

"They will hunt you down in two days flat!"

"That's why we need a good head start," Peeta says, rejoining us.

"You're going too?" Haymitch throws up his hands when Peeta doesn't deny it. They fall back to his sides with a resounding slap.

"I don't have much of a choice," Peeta says. I look down to my booted toes again. Then he adds, "But I would've asked to come anyway."

The sincerity in his voice effectively silences any biting comment Haymitch had ready and waiting. He evaluates Peeta and me, his eyes carefully studying one and then the other. I wonder if he thinks this is a practical joke. His eyes finally settle on me.

"Is this true?" he asks.

"You could come too," I say, though I know Haymitch will refuse the offer anyway. At least, I tried.

"It's too late for me, sweetheart," Haymitch says, and though the words bite, the way he says them sounds sad, regretful.

"We could use your help," Peeta says. It breaks my heart that he can be so diplomatic and helpful despite my complete lack of awareness for his feelings.

Or rather not lack of awareness. Blatant disregard is probably a more honest statement. I feel sick to my stomach again, and this time, I am pretty sure I cannot blame it on my pregnancy.

There's a charged standoff as everyone lets the outpouring of news marinate in their systems. Even though, none of the revelations is _ new_ to me, I still grapple with acceptance. It was one thing to think these thoughts, to envision this plan of escape. It's entirely something else to actually commit to it.

The tips of my ears and the end of my nose sting with numbness before Haymitch finally opens his mouth to say something. He immediately closes it again and we all whip our heads to the faint wailing on the horizon.

At first, I think it's just a gust of wind, whistling angrily through the buildings of District 12. But it grows and dies several times, in regular even intervals. My heart plummets.

Peeta grabs my arm, but I shake it off violently and my feet are already packing snow as I bolt forward.

"Katniss!" they call. "Wait!"

But I can't wait.

Those sirens only wail for one reason.

There's been a disaster at the mines.

_~Fin_


	10. Chapter 10

_January 16__th__, 2012_

_Author's Note: First off, thank you all so much for your reviews! Less than a day and my traffic stats exploded! I love all your comments, suggestions, and questions very much! Just some quick housekeeping that I've seen repeated a few times…_

_To clarify a few things:_

_1) The passage of time roughly correlates to the span of time covered in Catching Fire. My understanding is that Gale and Katniss had their talk in the cabin in the mid-winter range, the Quarter Quell announcement happens in late winter to early spring and that the 75__th__ Games take place mid – late spring. I am trying to follow that sequence in this story so the passing of time is a little vague because I don't want to bore you all with random mundane stuff. I alluded to spring's arrival in Chapter 8 and I would say that so far we've covered about a month._

_2) I did not want Katniss to tell Peeta and Haymitch first about her pregnancy either; the fangirl in me actually outright revolted a few times while I was writing. However, Katniss always seemed to surprise me in the books and I'm trying to stick with that character point in my story too. I originally had her telling Gale but I believe that Katniss would immediately grasp the implications of her condition on a much bigger scale than her and Gale. She seems very preoccupied about the Capitol in CF and I want her anxiety and awareness to continue in my story too._

_3) I also originally had not planned on working pregnancy into the story… but Katniss is so opposed to a family of her own in the books, I thought it would be interesting to see how she handled the situation when faced with it. I guess we shall see… ;)_

_4) I have not forgotten about the tapped phones and Capitol surveillance… this will play into the story further on… If I recall correctly, the tapping of phones wasn't realized until later on in CF anyway._

_5) Last but not least, Confession: I do not have it in me to kill off Gale Hawthorne… rest assured, he is not dead. (Read on )_

_Hope that helps and sorry for the long-windedness! As always, reviews guilt me into writing more!_

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><p>Three situations earn the status of mining disaster in District 12. All of them are synonymous with death.<p>

The most common disaster is a collapse in one of the vast underground tunnels. The room and pillar mining method is out-dated by centuries, but it is the only method useful to a district devoid of automated machines. Miners labor long days with pick and shovel to dig massive rooms supported by columns of coal as they bore into the mountainsides. This is the disaster that leaves many children orphaned.

The second disaster seen most often is a poisonous gas leak. All sorts of fumes are trapped beneath the expanses of bedrock and earth. They are pockets of death and there is no way to detect or avoid them. Canaries are brought down to act as sacrificial alarms, but someone has to carry the poor bird forward. There are only so many who can navigate the narrow passageways to escape the toxic air.

The third disaster is the least common but the most deadly. Explosions are not an unheard of misfortune in our district, although they do carry a greater shock value than gas leaks or tunnel collapses. I suspect this is because of the violence and immediacy and ferocity. Explosions claim more miners' lives in a single instant; there is practically no time for evacuation.

I find it cruelly ironic that now, of all times, my education decides to resurface from the deep files of my brain. It was painful enough to sit through lecture hours in school, having already been a victim to the curriculum, but to have it playing endlessly as I race toward the mines is pure torture.

I think I may be panicking, though I can't quite tell for sure. My throat and lungs sting with the sharp inhalations of frigid air that I choke down. The skin on my cheeks and neck feel non-existent with cold, yet burn in agony. My eyes stream tears and I tell myself that this is also a manifestation of the weather and not that I am already crying over a horrible outcome. My body screams at me to slow down, that this amount of exertion hurts. My heart does not care in the least bit.

Please, please, please, I think – I pray. Not him. Not him.

The harder I try not to envision Gale trapped beneath the surface, the more detail my minds paints for me to see. The idea of him pinned beneath a black boulder in absolute darkness, injured or trapped, sends me into complete overdrive. The burn drops to my thighs as I push myself forward, push myself faster.

Please, not Gale.

I must look like a wild animal when I reach the edge of town, though most of the people who notice me have a similar crazed look in their eyes. The ones that don't have their attention focused solely on the elevator shafts, prayers on their silently moving lips, begging some unknown deity with hands clasped to their chests. When the mines are in full swing – as they should be this late in the morning – the elevators constantly creak, lifting loads of coal to the surface and smothering miners arriving for later shifts within. Now two shafts belch thick roiling smoke and only one shaft moves with rickety purpose.

I glance around, scanning the miners who have managed to resurface. Their dark stained faces are easy to identify in the gathering throngs of people. Shouts of happiness mix with cries of anguish as each lift brings forth a few more faces from the depths of the earth. I watch family members embrace in exhausted relief and friends shake hands with tired smiles. Throughout it all, the sirens continue to wail overhead.

Rudely, I push through the ever dense crowd and receive a few "Heys!" and "Watch its!" for my lack of courtesy. I'll care about manners when I find Gale.

To the left of the mine entrances, a large wooden board holds the daily mine assignments for each team. A large man checks off the names of the miners that have survived and passes a red line through confirmed casualties. I shove my way to the front and recognize Thomas Atwood – he's been the foreman long before my father's death. I like Thomas for his gentle strength and no nonsense attitude. I also like that he frequently trades for rabbits at the Hob. Once I break through the front line of the small horseshoe gathered around the daily boards, he beckons me forward. Though I'm standing right next to him, he cups his blackened hands to his mouth and shouts into my ear to be heard over the din.

"He's not surfaced yet, Katniss!" His hand gives my shoulder a gentle squeeze, one thick finger pointing to the board for confirmation. I follow his direction and find Gale Hawthorne inscribed in dark bold handwriting along with the five other men on his team. None of the names are checked, but none of them have red lines scrawled across them either. I find it hard to be comforted by this fact. With the relative youth of this disaster, they most likely haven't been found yet.

"What happened, Tom?" I ask, shouting too.

I don't like his frown when he answers, "Explosion of some kind. Not quite sure of the extent. A few are saying it was on the east side."

The mines of District 12 are divided arbitrarily into East Mines and West Mines. Rooms of excavation on the eastern most side of the earth are even-numbered and rooms on the west are odd. The higher the number of the room, the further into the earth the miners work, the higher the risk of explosions and collapses.

Trying to ignore the rising dread that pushes inward on my chest and makes it difficult to breathe, I look back to the board to double check my fear.

**Room 26**

**Gale Hawthorne**

The East Mines only have 28 rooms.

I stare unblinkingly at Gale's name for a good minute before I can look away. Tom must see my apprehension because he ushers me to the side, his arm draped in a comforting gesture over my shoulders.

"He just hasn't surfaced yet, Katniss," he offers, nodding as if to convince himself as well as me. It would be more reassuring if I didn't see the sorrow and sympathy already directed at me in his gray Seam eyes.

I feel lost, weightless even, as I walk towards the periphery of people anxiously awaiting each elevator of survivors. A few people separate to make room for me, whether from their recognizance of my grief-filled stupor or my status as Victor I don't know. I can't even feel badly about not finding the voice to thank them for this small kindness.

At some point the sirens turn off and the noises of the crowd saturate the tense still air. The wind has quieted as if it too realizes the consequence of each elevator full – or half-full—of miners that rises to the surface. For the vast majority of the gathered, each revelation of dirty faces is a balancing point. For some, the scale tips to joy and relief. Most of the rest are left with the sickening weight of another stone of dread to add to their ever-growing pile of resignation.

* * *

><p>I've lost track of how long I've been standing among the perimeter when I hear my name behind me.<p>

"Katniss! Mom over here!"

Searchingly, I turn to the wary eyes of the crowd for the caller. A head of floppy black hair practically bowls me over, his arms colliding around my middle with impressive force. I wonder if Rory truly meant to hug me, or was using me to stop his forward momentum. Either way, I let my hands circle him and hold tightly to the human connection I have to Gale.

As Rory and I separate, Hazelle appears, her two youngest in tow. The sense of calm she displays is a balm to my fraying nerves. I will never cease to be amazed at how strong she can be in the face of such horror. She offers me a small sad smile when Vick tugs my pant leg for my attention.

"Did you find Gale?" he asks, and the innocence of his question almost shatters me.

I shake my head, swallowing around a lump in my throat that goes down with all the grace of a chalky boulder.

"No," I say, then hurriedly add, "Not yet."

"Well, we're going to park it right here and wait for him," Rory says. He crosses his arms defiantly and sits cross-legged with his younger brother at my feet, their eyes trained to the elevator shafts.

Hazelle and I exchange a glance. I can see the worry in her eyes that her sons might not be rewarded for the attentive vigil. A strong sense of déjà vu threatens to buckle my knees so I dig my thumbnails into my balled fists, trying to instead block the emotional tide with a physical pain.

"Your mother made Prim stay with her to start a triage," Hazelle says after a moment of tense silence.

"Good," I say. "She'll be needed when the wounded start surfacing."

I think of Gale emerging, limping from a sprained ankle or twisted knee, maybe holding a dislocated shoulder, and hope that is how he emerges. I immediately feel guilty wishing an injury on him when all I meant was that I'd rather him be injured than dead.

"Do you know what happened?" Hazelle asks.

"Tom thinks it was an explosion," I reply.

We are silent again.

Several hours pass and the watchful duo start to cave to the frigid air and rumbling stomachs. I can tell that Hazelle is torn between seeing to her demanding brood and staying for her eldest. Despite the sun's imminent descent and the lack of feeling in my toes and fingers, I reassure her that I will stay until Gale resurfaces. The fierceness of her hug and whispered thanks brings stinging tears to our eyes. I try to offer her an encouraging smile, but it comes out as more of a grimace.

As she turns to walk away, an idea occurs to me.

"Stay at our place," I say.

"I wouldn't want to impose on your mother," Hazelle says. "Her house is probably crazy right now."

"It doesn't matter," I protest. "She could probably use an extra set of hands anyway."

Hazelle stares at me, unconvinced.

"It's closer than the Seam…" I am really close to begging. "I don't want Gale to have to walk too far."

Recognition blazes in her eyes and I try not to look away, uncomfortable with what she might be seeing on my face. She takes a step toward me and places a hand on my arm.

"We'll stay," she says. But I hear the weight behind her words, the approval in her voice. The load of that responsibility frightens me, and I look down to my hands and where they've folded over my stomach. When I start, panicked over my subconscious posture, I realize Hazelle is already ten feet away, retreating towards the Victor's Village.

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><p>When dark sets in, Mayor Undersee orders all electricity to be routed to power the huge generators that illuminate the mine entrances for the oncoming night shift. Except, the night shift is not working and the stream of miners from the working shaft has dwindled to a trickle. It has been deathly silent for the better part of an hour when the gears clank and grind, signaling another miner has found his way out.<p>

The lift seems to take forever to reach the surface, and when one lonely body stumbles awkwardly forward, I feel like I might explode with anxiety. When he looks up, my heart falls. I squat to the ground, hugging my knees to my chest as if I could possibly hold myself together while I feel like I'm being torn apart. Squeezing my eyes shut tightly, I try not to be angry with the jubilant shouts and happy tears around me.

"Are you the last one boy?"

"How close were you to the explosion?"

"Oh Sean, thank god you're all right!"

"How many more are down there?"

"No, there's two more," the boy called Sean says. "One's badly injured, the other stayed with him." I look up to see him staggering around. If I wasn't feeling so demoralized, I would think he was drunk. "We need someone to help bring him up!"

I wish my heart wouldn't leap into overdrive the way it does. It's too dangerous to clutch to a thin fleeting hope like the one Sean promises me. Two miners still down there… They could be anybody, Katniss. But to not reach for that hope means something far worse.

What remains of the crowd presses forward as an exhausted Tom and Sean dive deep into the mine again. Each rotation of the pulley system sounds fragile and though the ride is only twenty feet and takes less than a minute, I am aggravated that it took even that much time at all.

Peacekeepers – new ones, their faces are unfamiliar to me – warn us to stay back. Some even bring out their crowd control shields in case all hell breaks loose. But they needn't worry. District 12 is used to being skeptically optimistic. No riot would start on such a wavering chance.

The elevator shaft groans into life and as it rises, my stomach seems to rise in tandem. My breathing is erratic, and I sound like I'm gasping for air. The gates slide open and Tom's burly form steps out, carrying a man I don't recognize under the arms. Sean emerges supporting the man's feet. As they stagger past, the injured miner doesn't look good. He's a sickly ashen color and the snow beneath their path is spotted with dark red stains. I swallow back bile.

The last figure to emerge has a disgusting excuse for a cloth pressed to the side of his face, and he walks slowly as if unsure that his feet are actually making contact with the ground. I can tell his head injury is making balance difficult, but I still hear myself impatiently demanding him to look up. As if he hears my silent plea, he does.

The tears start streaming instantly and I laugh from sheer exhaustion and relief. Gale stops moving and lets me come to him, his smile weak but present underneath layers of coal dust and ash. The smell of blood pervades the immediate air around him, but I bury myself into his open arm – the other still holding the cloth to his forehead—and try to think of something to say to him. I choke awkwardly instead.

Refusing to let go of him completely, I pull back, noticing then the weight he's shifted to me in the embrace.

"Gale?" I ask, worried.

"I just hit my head, Catnip," he says. His voice is a little slurred and judging by the way he tries to sway on his feet, I'm guessing the sooner we get him seated, the better.

"Can you walk?" The doubt is evident in my voice, but he nods with a noticeable grimace.

"Slowly."

Though he is immensely bigger than me, I tuck myself firmly under his arm, wrapping my other around his waist and we take the first painstaking steps toward the Village. I thought I was done praying when Gale stepped off the elevator. It seems I'll also need a prayer to get him home.

_~Fin_

_I wanted to make this chapter infinitely longer but I really have to call it a night and wanted to update for you all... better Gale/Katniss reunion in the next one, I promise. :)_


	11. Chapter 11

_January 30th, 2012_

_A/N: I'm sorry for the long wait. I started this chapter three different times before deciding that it wasn't getting any better with each subsequent revision. Not sure I am totally satisfied with it, but hopefully, it doesn't disappoint._

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><p>My prayer is answered in the form of Hazelle. As she ushers us inside, her relief floods through me and I let myself share the lightness of the moment with her. For the first time since the sirens called out, I acknowledge the crushing weight I'd been carrying all day, the growing despair pooling at the doorstep and melting away with the promising warmth of home with Gale in its safe comforting walls. Ironically, without the burden, I feel even less sure of the present, as if I'm dreaming this happy ending into existence.<p>

In her motherly worry, Hazelle manages to replace me so that I can only follow them into the family room. The sudden flare of irritation catches me off guard and I work quickly to dispel the irrational possessiveness I feel worming its sickening way through my heart. Hazelle is his mother; it's only right for her to take over. Rory bounces from his perch by the hearth and joins in the reunion, his exuberance jostling his older brother when he eases himself to the couch. Gale's noticeable wince makes me want to snap at Rory's ignorance. Instead, I bite my tongue. Hard.

"I'll be right back," Hazelle says, her hand finding Gale's cheek.

Only when she goes to retrieve my mother do I resume my place next to Gale. Despite the fact he's shut his eyes against the pain, his hand searches for mine. I lock my fingers tightly with his and give them a reassuring squeeze. The moment of respite is brief. Our mothers descend like two brooding hens in the middle of a fox raid in the chicken coop.

As my mother barks orders to Prim, who disappears back into the kitchen, she gently extracts the filthy cloth from Gale's head, evaluating his wound, asking what happened. I can see it pulls from being pressed to the cut for so long, the cords of Gale's neck tenses when he bites back a yelp. My first instinct is to soothe and comfort him, but Hazelle beats me to it, her arm slipping supportively around his shoulders.

"I just remember the canary stopped singing, and there was a loud blast," Gale explains, his teeth gritted as my mother prods the ravaged skin on his head. Prim returns with a bucket of water and a bowl of some mint green paste. "And then I was being pulled up to my feet."

My mother nods, working a wet cloth to clean the cut. I swallow hard when she removes it and bright red blood smudged with coal dust is evident on the snowy fabric.

"The wound's deep, but it'll heal," she says. A few more swipes reveals the extent of the gash on Gale's forehead, an angry line from his forehead to the corner of his right eye gaping across his beautiful skin. Then she's packing paste into the cut. Judging by the prickling in the tips of my fingers, Gale would like to strongly object to the treatment. I don't let go of his hand.

"It'll sting at first," my mother continues sympathetically. She applies a layer of gauze, keeping it in place with a cross weave of tape. I've seen the bandage once before. It's as close to stitches as we come in District 12. "The snow coat will numb it though. Any pain? Dizziness? Nausea?"

Gale attempts to shake his head, but quickly forgoes the emphasis and replies, "Just a massive headache."

"I imagine you've got quite the concussion, Gale," she says. Her smile is radiant and encouraging. "Rest will fix that. Quiet activity for a while, and I'll have to wake you every few hours tonight…"

"I'll do it!"

I've been so desperate to say anything in the last hour that the words just come bursting out of me. Five pairs of eyes turn to me at once and I'm reminded of the millions of eyes from Capitol citizens that watched me twirl for them. The flush returns to my cheeks now, whether from the memory or my current predicament I don't know.

My mother scowls at me, the healer annoyed at my intrusion into her special zone. Her gaze softens though after a moment, and I wonder what she saw in my eyes that made her sacrifice the chance to remind me of my manners. Her mouth sets in a firm line.

"Katniss, make sure to wake him every few hours and ask him a few simple questions," she instructs. "If he slurs his speech or acts confused, get me immediately."

I nod, still a little chagrined from her icy stare.

"Gale, it's probably best if you tried to stay propped up as much as possible. But don't make yourself uncomfortable, I'd rather you got the rest."

"So no mines tomorrow?" he asks.

"Gale!"

"No!"

"Absolutely not!"

My mother, Hazelle and I launch a full assault of incredulity that elicits another wince.

"Ha. Ha. I was joking," Gale says, though I detect the relieved – or was it worried?—undertone in his voice.

"Not funny," I say. My mother's and Hazelle's disapproving expressions seem to second my statement.

"Well, then. Let's get you upstairs," Hazelle says. She moves to grip Gale's other arm, but he tenses.

"I'd rather just stay here," he says. "Really, I'll be fine right here."

Hazelle's raised eyebrows don't seem to agree, but she doesn't argue. She's a smart woman and knows when to pick her battles with Gale's stubbornness. I would take her side if it didn't mean the chance to spend some time with Gale away from watchful eyes. Biting my lip, I look down as if I had voiced that thought aloud.

There's a lot of fuss as pillows and blankets are scrounged up and carefully arranged into a makeshift bed for Gale. He refuses to lay lengthwise, so his feet remain unceremoniously dumped on the floor. I resolve his comfort by pushing two ottomans together in a sort of extension of the couch and he offers me a small smile for my effort.

My mother has since excused herself to clean and reorganize her kitchen now that the last of the injured have returned home. After Gale is changed – I dutifully left the room – and the worst of the coal dust has been rinsed away, Hazelle hovers for a moment longer than I'd like, but after wringing her hands a few times, seems to trust her son to my care and kisses Gale's forehead.

"I'm so happy you're okay," I hear her whisper, before she says her good night, ushering Rory ahead of her. We can hear her grumbling about a bedtime and it being way past and then the voices are gone and it's just me, Gale, and quiet.

I'm still standing awkwardly in the place I took up after fixing Gale's footrest. Moving back to the couch seemed a little forward, despite the fact I get the feeling Hazelle has her suspicions about her son and me. Not bad suspicions, but there's no point in adding any stock to her observations.

Without lifting his head, Gale cracks one eye, the corner of his mouth turning up into a little smirk.

"It's just a concussion, Catnip. I'm not gonna break," he says, his arm extending out, inviting me closer.

I don't need any more encouragement than that. Carefully, I fold myself against him, my knees curled across his lap, my face pressed into the side of his neck. I breathe deep, inhaling pine and smoke and something else that I can't name. Something completely just Gale. Even the undertone of coal doesn't stop me from breathing it in over and over again.

We sit in silence for a moment, moving only to adjust, our hands roaming, offering comforting touches. Gale presses his lips to my hair and I look up to his serious stare. I want to ask him what's wrong. Instead, I lean forward and kiss him. I move my mouth gently at first, barely dragging my lips over his, trying to coax out the worry that was so evident in his eyes so that I can shoulder it, dispel it, save Gale from it. When he tries to deepen our kiss, I am forced to shift to a more accommodating angle, though I try to keep the contact light, comforting. One of Gale's hands finds the small of my back, the other the side of my neck, and suddenly, I have my knees on either side of his hips, our chests are flush, and when he releases me, we are breathing hard. How silly of me to believe that I could prevent a slight flicker from burning into a full blaze.

Gale wants to kiss me again, but I stiffen against him. He pulls back, his forehead creased with concern, and I can't help the smile that breaks across my face.

"Quiet activity, Hawthorne," I whisper against his lips.

His half smile returns along with a devilish glint in his gray eyes.

"_I_ can be quiet, Everdeen," he says. "You, on the other hand…"

I try desperately to resist the magical patterns his fingers are tracing over my skin just beneath my shirt. He keeps his touches frustratingly light, making goosebumps erupt all along my flesh. When his thumbs rub enticingly up and down the slight dent of my hips, the moan escapes me without my permission. The only way I can think to wipe the arrogant smirk off his face is to kiss it away.

Gale grunts a little at the force of my mouth against his, and while I'm not proud of causing him some pain, I'm slightly satisfied to have made my point. I walk us right up to the point of no return and somehow find it in me to step away from the slippery slope of all-consuming desire. Ignoring Gale's frown of disapproval, I stretch out alongside him and wait for the heady cloud to dissipate.

The tick-tock, tick-tock of the clock on the mantle is our metronome and Gale's heart slows beneath my hand as the tranquility of the late hour seeps into the room. It occurs to me to ask him if he wants to discuss what he went through, but his breathing evens out and the weight of his arm across my middle grows heavier. I only look up when I feel him completely relax beside me; then I too surrender to sleep.

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><p>My pillow is quivering. In my groggy state, I vaguely am aware of the strangeness of that observation, but convince myself, I'm still dreaming and try to snuggle down into it. Except, my pillow jolts violently, and suddenly I'm wide awake. It takes only a minute to for me to reboot and remember why I'm asleep on the couch in my living room.<p>

Gale trembles again, and I glance nervously at the clock wondering just how long I've been asleep. It says it's a little past two and I breathe a sigh of relief that it's only been three hours. Gently, I shake Gale's shoulder, trying to ease him out of his dream. He shudders again, and I feel panic starting to rise when I begin thinking that maybe something's wrong.

"Gale," I say, the urgency slipping into my voice. "Gale, wake up."

He comes to with a start, his eyes darting around, his breathing like ragged gasps. I brush the light sheen of sweat from his forehead, waiting patiently as the remnants of his nightmare fade. I begin worrying again when Gale's hands touch my face as if trying to convince himself that I am real.

"Gale, it's okay," I say, brushing my fingers against his cheek. "I'm right here."

"Catnip," he says, the wildness in his eyes subsiding rapidly. His voice sounds rough, scratchy. I give him a minute to relax.

"Do you want some water?" I realize that my question is not the most natural to ask after you wake someone from a bad dream, but something concrete and simple like a drink of water always made me feel a little more stable, a little more in control.

Gale nods, and I disentangle myself from where the blankets have twisted amongst our legs to retrieve a glass from the kitchen. When I return, Gale has a hand pressed over his eyes and seems to be focusing on breathing slowly.

"Are you all right?" I ask.

"Yeah, just… a bad dream," he says. He takes the water from me and downs the entire glass in big gulps.

"More?"

He shakes his head. "No, thanks."

Holding out a spoon of sleep syrup, I win the battle of wills with him, and he grudgingly takes it, making sure to scowl so that I know how foul the syrup is and how proud I should be of him for taking it without complaining out loud.

"Thank you," I say, and I kiss him full on the mouth, sharing the bitter taste and my pride. I curl up next to him, gently pushing his sweaty hair from his forehead. "Want to talk about it?"

"I think I was just reliving that explosion," he says after a minute. "Except I knew it was coming and couldn't do anything about it.

I cock my head, a silent gesture asking him to continue.

"Sean, Aaron, and I were talking about the rumors of the shortage of seafood in the Capitol when that canary went silent," Gale explains.

My stomach twists heavily, and I don't have to ask him to know that he's not only recalling his nightmare, he's telling me the events just before the explosion.

"Sean thinks it's because something's going on in District 2," Gale continues. "But who knows really…"

The way he drifts off makes me think that while he doesn't want to believe in a rebellion, the hope that some other district is finally taking a stand intrigues him at least a little. That thought alone terrifies me. If Gale and I are going to run from the Capitol, the last thing I need is for some uprisings in the other districts to make him think twice about escape. The mayor's television alert flashes through my mind, but I force the memory back, burying it deep because that is not an event I think I should share.

I'm pulled out of my impending panic when Gale takes my hand from where it's settled over my stomach and twists our fingers, watching me, waiting for a comment.

"How does your head feel?" I ask.

"Sore," he says, with a half smile. "But I guess that's to be expected."

I frown, knowing there is really nothing I can offer to dull his pain, before I lean forward and kiss him. One slow, tantalizing kiss. Drawing him with me, I lie back, my lips drifting from his mouth to his nose to the bandage just over his eye. Our movement leaves me propped up against the arm of couch, half beneath Gale, his head resting against my shoulder and chest. I let my fingers wander through his thick hair, my lips occasionally pressing a kiss here and there. Gale sighs, his arm wrapping around my middle and sliding my body somehow impossibly closer to his.

"Better?" I whisper.

"Much."

Minutes pass. How many I'm not sure. My own eyes start to droop from exhaustion, the heat from Gale's body against mine luring me towards sleep. I'm losing the battle when Gale's voice cuts through the stillness.

"I don't want to go back down there."

His voice is so low I think I imagined it. That maybe I was dreaming and am now confusing my reality and my subconscious state. It's Gale's voice, but different somehow. Younger? Must have been drifting off into a strange…

"Catnip?"

No, I definitely heard that. And the difference I first didn't recognize is evident in the softness of my name. It's terror.

"To the mines?" I ask.

"Yeah," he says, the word drawn out, not slurred, but not crisp either. I can tell the syrup is taking effect and know that Gale might not be entirely aware of what he's saying. The thought doesn't stop me from proceeding to ask anyway.

"Gale?"

Again the barely audible reply.

"You know you don't have to work down there…"

The only response I get is the heavy rise and fall of his chest.

"I have enough for you not to work in the mines again."

No response.

"Gale?"

"Uh huh…"

"Did you hear me?"

"Uh huh…"

"You don't have to work there. Okay?"

"Uh huh…"

"Gale?"

"Yeah."

"I love you."

"Love you, too."

I can barely make out his response, because sleep finally pulls him under and away from me. I'm content to just hold him in my arms, and let myself enjoy the feeling of his arms wrapped securely around me. My eyes flutter with the heaviness of impending sleep, and somewhere in my fight to stay awake, it crosses my mind that I should feel guilty for taking advantage of Gale's drug-induced state and complete exhaustion. But my absolute last thought before I succumb is that I don't feel guilty enough that I won't back down if he remembers this conversation tomorrow.

_~Fin_


	12. Chapter 12

_February 4th, 2012_

_A/N: Thanks for all the encouraging reviews! I tried my best to update as soon as possible! I've been anxiously looking forward to writing this chapter and I know some of you have been patiently awaiting one of the following moments... ;) As always, reviews are greatly appreciated!_

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><p>The next time I wake the room is tinged a pale dusty purple. I can just barely make out the soft orange tint peeking around the silhouettes of the houses across the street, the sun still a little shy to the day. Craning my head backwards does not help me see the clock on the mantle, but I can guess that it's only been a few more hours since I last woke Gale.<p>

He is dead to the world now. I'm not sure he's moved much, if at all. The weight of his head on my chest is heavy, as is his arm across my middle. Pinned mostly beneath his body, my right shoulder feels non-existent, and though I can appreciate a faint sense of movement in the tips of my fingers when I flex them, I'm irrationally overcome with the idea that my arm has completely ghosted away. Gale shifts in his sleep as my fingers inadvertently tickle his side, so at least I know they still work, even if I can't feel them.

He sighs deeply, settling into a more comfortable position. I watch our breathing for a moment, mesmerized by the easy tandem that comes so naturally, before I wake him again. This time, I feel guilty for interrupting, though I know it has to be done.

"Gale," I say softly, running my free hand through his hair. I sit up as much as I can beneath him, gently shaking his shoulder. "Gale…"

He grumbles, and I smile, imagining the choice words his subconscious is trying to get out. Eventually my persistence pays off because he raises his head and fixes me with groggy gray eyes.

"Sorry," I say. "I had to."

It's hard to tell whether Gale heard me as he struggles to pull himself wholly into reality, hovering on the last edges of his dream. After another minute, a sleepy smile breaks through the fogginess.

"Hey," I say, returning his smile.

"Hey, Catnip."

The huskiness in his voice sends a shiver down my spine that I completely fail to stifle. Gale's face scrunches with concern.

"Are you cold?"

I shake my head. Definitely not cold.

"How're you feeling?" I ask.

"Tired," Gale says. His response is a little too quick which makes me believe there's still syrup in his system. Gale's not one to willingly admit any kind of weakness, no matter how merited it is. I think of our conversation in the middle of the night, but push it out of my mind before the guilt can get a grasp on me.

"Your head?"

"Same."

My thumb strokes his cheek sympathetically. His eyelids droop in the stillness that follows. I don't want to disturb him again, so I quickly slide out from under him, replacing a real pillow where I was being used as a makeshift one.

"Where are you going?" Gale asks.

I adjust the blanket so that it settles more snugly around him, kneeling down by his face.

"Just to start breakfast. Don't worry. Go back to sleep."

I press a kiss to his forehead. By the time I stand, Gale's already drifted away. Satisfied that he's at ease for a few more hours, I head to the kitchen and start prepping. My mother usually heads up the cooking when we have company, but I can only imagine the day she had yesterday, with all the mine victims, so she probably could use a head start.

I begin boiling water for tea and cutting potatoes for hash browns. As I work, my mind recalls Gale contentedly asleep across me, and I think of what it would be like to wake up every morning to that image. The thought leads to a scene of domestic life, with a house where two dark-haired children play in the yard, Gale and I watching happily from the front porch. I almost slice my finger off when that daydream reminds me I have yet to tell him.

There's really no easy way to break news of that nature, no matter the circumstances, but I bite my lip until my skin smarts from the constant worrying. I'm so entrenched into finding the right words that I practically jump into the sink when my mother wishes me a good morning.

"I didn't mean to frighten you," she says, laughter in her eyes. She starts gathering wild onions and market bought peppers from the fridge. "How's Gale?"

"Asleep," I say. "I woke him twice and other than soreness, he seemed fine." Then I add, "I gave him sleep syrup."

It feels like a confession, and for the first time, it crosses my mind that maybe I shouldn't have given it to him. That maybe sleep syrup and concussions were not meant to be mixed.

"That was smart of you," my mother says, dispelling the growing anxiety in me in an instant. "He's going to need to rest. How are you doing?"

I know she does not mean it in an accusatory way, but my current train of thought still swirls around me needing to tell Gale about our predicament, so the collision of the impending conversation and her question meld momentarily. I stare at her like a deer catching the zing of my arrow just a second too late, afraid that she somehow overheard my inner monologue.

"Ummm, fine," I stammer. My chopping slips into an erratic telling rhythm, but if she notices, she doesn't comment.

"Make sure you get rested too," my mother says. She adds the eggs she's whisked together with the onions and peppers to a frying pan. "It was a long day yesterday for everyone."

I nod, thinking only of running and babies. A knock on the kitchen door stops me from a complete panic, and I wipe my clammy hands on my pants so I can turn the knob, standing aside to let Peeta in. Great, just what I needed, I think bitterly. Running. And babies. And Peeta.

It's not fair of me to be angry with Peeta, especially when he unwraps a warm loaf of raisin bread that he brought back from his family's bakery. He places a smaller bag next to me, not bothering to tell me what's inside. He doesn't have to. I can already smell the sharp tang of cheesebuns. My stomach somersaults.

"Thanks," I manage to say.

I let my mother fill in Peeta when he asks about Gale. Did I imagine Peeta's face falling slightly when my mother tells him Gale's asleep in the living room? No, that's ridiculous. Peeta is too kind-hearted to utter a curse, let alone wish a mining accident on someone. I set my jaw and think I must be going insane with all the wild thoughts coursing through my head.

It doesn't take long for the smells of scrambled eggs, hash browns, and raisin bread to waft through the house and pull inhabitants from the beds. Rory and Vick practically explode into the kitchen with Posy and Prim following several steps behind. Hazelle appears after another minute, and I know it's only because she checked on Gale as she went by.

"How'd you both do last night, Katniss?" she asks, scooping up Posy who wants to watch the water boiling.

"Good," I say, avoiding Peeta's perplexed stare. I feel rude with such a short answer so I add, "Other than sore, he seemed fine when I woke him. I think he's just exhausted."

No sooner do the words leave my mouth when Gale walks into the kitchen. Posy shrieks to be let down, and Rory and Vick are immediately bouncing at their brother's side. Though I can tell he's thrilled to see his siblings, I can also see Gale fighting to reach a chair quickly. I abandon the potatoes to help him.

"Was it loud?"

"What happened?"

"How'd you get out?"

"GALE!"

"Rory! Vick!" Hazelle says. Her voice is stern but not loud. I admire the authority in it because her two youngest sons fall silent with impressive speed. "Go wash up for breakfast, please." The two boys bolt for the bathroom, the chagrin disappearing from their faces in the ensuing battle to reach the sink first.

Shaking her head, Hazelle finishes tossing the hash browns and brings them to the table. My mother scrapes the eggs into a serving dish as we all find our seats. She sets them on the table, just as Rory and Vick return. Their eyes gleam with questions, but they mind their mother's orders and leave Gale alone.

Despite the fact that my stomach growls loudly – illicting giggles from Prim and Posy – I only spoon a small helping of hash browns and eggs on my plate. Having not eaten for most of yesterday, I am ravenous, but I don't want to overdue it. My stomach is still untrustworthy in the morning. Gale notices the lack of food on my plate and gives me a quizzical look, though he doesn't say anything.

The first few minutes of most meals are silent aside from clinking utensils. It's a learned habit from the Seam. Meals are so coveted that it's hard to talk when your stomach is practically jumping through your mouth to get at the food faster. Peeta is the only one who isn't used to the quiet.

"I'm really glad you're all right, Gale," Peeta says. Coming from anyone else, the comment might sound forced or less than genuine. Mocking, even. Coming from Peeta it seems natural. Gale stops and the two regard each other, before Gale says a soft thank you.

I can feel the tension between the two, an uneasy truce, but a quick glance around the table doesn't reveal anyone else detecting it. Maybe, I'm just paranoid.

"Me too!" Posy seconds. Her mop of red curls bounces with her enthusiasm. Gale pokes her nose lightly and she squeals with glee. I had a knowing grin behind my mug.

The conversation that follows is light and easy. Hazelle and my mother discuss meal plans for the next few days, and I am thrilled that Hazelle's made the executive decision to heed my invitation. Our younger siblings argue over what game to play first, what games to play at all, and finally try to convince Gale, Peeta and me to join. My mother nixes Gale's participation immediately.

I sigh with relief when the first wave of nausea hits. Casually laying down my fork, I reach for my tea, hoping that it'll pass if I stick to liquids. My mug is almost to my lips when the aroma of mint flips my stomach into a fit.

"Excuse me," I say, sliding my chair out and heading for the bathroom. I wait until I'm completely out of view before breaking into a run. My socked feet let me tread the stairs lightly, my panic not echoing down to the diners below. I'm almost not quick enough.

My knees hit the tiled floor heavily, my forearms finding the cool toilet seat, bracing against the violent spasm that sends my breakfast back up. Then I'm retching again and again, until there's nothing left of my meager meal. Even then, I dry heave. My insides feel like fire and my legs feel like jelly. Too weak to sit up, I just stare into the toilet, trying not to actually see the contents swirling in front of me, my forehead resting on my arm, my body occasionally shuddering.

It'll pass, I think, closing my eyes. It'll pass. Please let it pass.

Someone gathers the hair that's fallen around my face making me start. Gale reaches around me to flush the toilet. Figures I didn't hear him at all.

I'm still not convinced the morning sickness is finished with me so I stay hugging the seat for a few minutes. Gale is patient, soothingly rubbing my back with one hand, holding my hair with the other. Only after the hunger starts to return do I believe it's over and lean back against the wall. Gale retrieves a damp cloth and sits next to me, sponging my face and neck with cool relief.

"How long have you been sick, Catnip?" he asks, his eyes studying me intently.

"I'm not sick," I say.

He frowns, clearly not amused that I'm lying to him, opening his mouth to argue, but I cut him off.

"I'm pregnant."

The cloth falls away from my neck. Gale's mouth closes and opens and closes as he tries to find words. There are none. Instead, he pulls me close into a hug, crushing me to his chest. I think his strong reaction to comfort me is a little strange. I mean I've been dealing with this news for the better part of two days now, so clearly I'm okay. Someone's sobbing and it takes a second to realize that it's me.

Maybe it's the full weight of that statement finally breaking through my hardened composure. Maybe it's the horror at possibly having lost Gale to the mines finally catching up with me. Maybe it's some combination of the two. All I know is the floodgates are open and I'm helpless to rein it in.

Gale rocks me, his arms tense, his mouth pressed against the top of my head. I know the shock he's in. The fear. The disbelief. I do not expect him to say anything.

But he does. Though it's not what I expect.

"When you kissed Peeta, I quit watching," Gale says.

I don't move, confused, waiting for him to continue.

"I quit watching and stormed out because it hurt too much. Because _I_ was the one who was supposed to kiss you."

His embrace loosens and I pull back to meet his gray eyes with my own.

"Not him." Gale shakes his head.

"But Prim came after me, and she was furious with me for leaving. She yelled at me, saying I had no right to walk out on you, saying that it wasn't what you wanted either."

"I've never heard her angry," I say softly.

Gale fixes me with a pointed stare, his half smile turning up the corner of his mouth.

"Well, it's terrifying," he says. "She said that you had promised to come back to us, and that when you did, I'd see it was all a lie. But when you came back, I had to promise her that I would never walk out on you again."

Gale's hands find my cheeks, his thumbs wiping away my tear tracks.

"So I'm not going anywhere, Katniss. I'll be right here."

His eyes hold me in place more effectively than his hands ever could.

"Okay?"

I nod, burying myself against him, letting Gale's strength hold me together.

"Plus, she's really terrifying…" he adds.

I look at him dubiously before we dissolve into laughter.

For a moment, it doesn't matter that we're fighting the Capitol. Planning an escape. Going to have a child. For a moment, it just matters that Gale is holding me as much as I am holding him. The two of us have always had each others' backs; this will be no different.

_~Fin_


	13. Chapter 13

_February 28th, 2012_

_A/N: I apologize immensely for the long time between updates. I hit a kind of rut in the road and was having difficulty navigating this plot to its next level. It's quite the balancing act the more characters that are tossed into the mix. Thanks ever so much to Howlynn for suggesting this little plot band-aid. And thank you all to my reviewers for your comments. I absolutely thrive on them!_

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><p>I thought telling Gale would leave me with a sense of peace and calm. That not having to contain the secret would bring relief. Yet, I still feel an anxious restlessness inside. Gale's presence and attention offers a good distraction for a while. But then he surrenders to an afternoon nap, and I find myself pacing back and forth, left with nothing to keep the worry at bay.<p>

Before my mind is fully caught up to the idea, my hands find the back door handle and push it wide. The blast of cold air tells me I forgot my coat, but I'm already ten feet away and moving forward. I realize where I'm going after another few minutes of blindly following this compulsive need to move, my feet trained towards Peeta's front door like a heat-seeking missile.

When I knock, another gust of wind hits me full force and I wince just as he answers the door.

"Katniss?" Peeta asks, concerned no doubt by the ugly grimace I must be wearing. "You okay?"

I don't even wait for the invitation inside, brushing past him and diving for the overwhelming warm interior of his house. He closes the door behind me and the relative serenity of his home is at once rejuvenating and disconcerting. How does he stay here by himself? It must be lonely.

Peeta's looking at me expectantly when I turn to face him and suddenly, I'm only too aware of my barging in and overt rudeness.

"I'm sorry, Peeta," I say. I rub my frozen hands together before tucking them into my armpits, cold and uncomfortable. His patience feels pressing and I grope wildly for another coherent thought. "I just forgot to thank you for the cheesebuns this morning."

Peeta smiles slightly.

"No, you didn't."

"'I didn't?"

"No, you did…" Peeta frowns, his hand pulling at the back of his neck. "… thank me." He looks away, awkwardly, the thoughts on his face frustratingly clear, yet unreadable. I open my mouth to coax what he's thinking out of him, but he beats me to it. "You didn't even eat any."

I can hear the hurt in his voice.

"I wanted to… I just…" My hands fall to my sides with an audible slap. "Morning sickness."

He studies me, nodding once before retreating to his kitchen. Though he hasn't said to follow, I do anyway, hoping that I'm interpreting the wordlessness correctly. Peeta rummages through some cabinets and pulls two mugs out, placing them on the counter so the ceramic and granite ring out harshly. Uncertainly, I watch him dutifully fill a kettle with water and place it on the stovetop.

"You can sit," he says.

I dive forward, rushing to complete his request. Somehow I feel better with a directive. I flounder when forced to improvise.

The stovetops in the Victors' mansions are state of the art and soon the kettle is whistling that the water is boilingly hot. Carefully, Peeta removes it from the burner, fills our mugs, and places a steaming brew before me. The steam wafting up smells of tartness and spring.

I think that maybe I'm supposed to say something, when Peeta sits across from me in silence. But he traces an invisible pattern on the table before sighing heavily.

"I'm sorry," he says.

"Why are you sorry?" I ask, confused.

"I should've come to stand with you," he says. I frown, not understanding. "At the mines. I should've waited with you."

"No, Peeta. Don't be ridiculous," I say. "I should be the one apologizing for leaving you and Haymitch in the cold. I just heard the sirens and…"

My throat closes involuntarily, not letting me finish that thought. Even though, I know that Gale is safe above ground, the very memory of the sheer panic and terror I felt still threatens me with overwhelming grief.

"You really love him, don't you?"

I drop his stare and nod feebly. Peeta sighs audibly, and when I tentatively glance back up, his eyes are on me.

"All of this would be much easier if I had died like I was supposed to."

His blue eyes watch my reaction with a strange mix of sadness and devotion. He looks tired, disheartened even. The guilt I feel flares with sudden anger at him for saying something like that.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I snap.

"In the arena," he says. "I could've swallowed those berries and let you be the lone victor. Then you and Gale could've had your happy ending without me constantly in the way."

"You're not in the way…"

"Yes, Katniss, I am!" Peeta's fist slams into the table and I jump. I would expect that frustrated gesture from Gale, but not gentle Peeta. He stands and paces a few steps before turning back to face me. "But I don't have to be anymore."

"Peeta, I…"

I am at a complete loss for words. The outburst has caught me off guard and anything that crosses my mind seems trite or insincere. Peeta shakes his head at my gaping, kneeling before me and grabbing my hands in his.

"No, Katniss," he says. "I've been thinking and the best chance you and Gale have is if I can give you a head start. Maybe distract them long enough to come after me instead."

My head is shaking too, but to deny his plan. Surely he can see the insanity of it. The pointlessness.

"Peeta, if we separate, the Capitol will come down on the one who stays behind. Regardless of who leaves first," I say. "I'm sorry Gale and I didn't realize the danger we were putting you in."

The wounded look on his face is so absolute, it breaks me inside. How horrible am I for stringing him along, forcing him to play the doting admirer while I play make-believe behind his back? It makes me rethink the next words that come to mind. Because in some ways, by pleading what I am about to, I continue to play my hurtful deck against him.

"You have to come with us," I say. My hands close around his in a probably inappropriate intimacy. He latches on like a lifeline though. "I want you to come with us."

The adoring gaze softens the brightness dancing in his blue eyes and I really wish he wouldn't look at me that way, because it makes the guilt twist in my heart for using that to my advantage. However, I cannot let Peeta sacrifice himself so carelessly for my sake. I still owe him immensely. It's beginning to appear that I will never be able to pay him back.

"Please promise me you won't do something stupid." My voice hitches a little at the end, the desperation evident in its trembling tone.

Peeta grimaces a little and my heart suddenly speeds up.

"What?"

"I'd steer clear of Haymitch then…"

* * *

><p>Of course, the first thing I do after leaving Peeta's house is walk straight to our mentor's front door. I don't even bother knocking and march straight into his kitchen. Except Haymitch is nowhere to be found.<p>

"Haymitch!" I yell.

"In here, sweetheart."

The crispness on the ending word alerts me to the lack of alcohol in his system. Part of me thinks that I should abandon this mission and come back at a later time. A sober Haymitch is ironically a lot harder to deal with than an intoxicated one. But, it's no use now. He already knows I'm here.

He's sprawled out on the couch, his booted feet haphazardly resting on the end table where they hang over the armrest. They're dangerously close to sending the lone lamp on its surface crashing to the floor when he swings them up, and beckons me to follow him outside.

"How's your Seam rat?"

The derogatory comment is meant exactly to get a visceral reaction out of me and I can't help but give him what he's seeking.

"His name is Gale," I say, my teeth gnashing angrily.

Haymitch sits up and pretends to contemplate this as if it were of great importance. Something he had not yet realized and was just ruminating on and seeing how well the concept was when swallowed.

"I'm very impressed that you took my advice," he snarls. "Glad you found someone better."

His words are razor sharp and my intense rage deflates like a balloon releasing all its pent-up air. I can't fight dirty when he's this pissed off with me.

"Say what you want to say to me, Haymitch."

"You have got to get your head in the game, sweetheart." He jabs his finger at me with every word, as if physically poking them at me might make then stick more permanently. "This running off to see your cousin…"

"Gale's not my…"

Haymitch's glare silences me instantly.

"…and leaving your fiancé behind like a discarded toy… It's unbecoming."

I scowl at him, confused and irritated by his rather lofty speech. If anything, it's unbecoming of him to dictact what behaviors define decorum and appropriateness.

"People talk, rumors spread…"

Cold, frustrated, and emotionally exhausted, I plant my feet and refuse to go any further.

"Haymitch!" I yell. He snaps his head to me. "What is going on?"

I am a little afraid to see this irrational perplexing behavior from him when he's sober. It is not as easy to let it roll of my back when I don't have alcohol to blame.

"Have you not figured it out?"

I stare blankly at him. Clearly the answer is no.

"Did you even stop to think why your love-sick puppy dog was not obediently waiting by your side at the mines?"

I blanch, the realization that I have missed something of great importance hitting me like a ton of bricks.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand," I say.

"Of course you don't."

Haymitch scowls at me and then launches into a tirade.

"I could only follow one of you and forgive me for choosing the shorter distance of the two. That boy ran to his house and started going on about making it easier on you. Rooting through his bathroom like a madman. It was only when he grabbed the painkillers that I realized what he was trying to do. I was up most of the night watching him like some he was in some hospital ward. Didn't let him take anything but the boy damn near broke my arm trying to get the pills back."

"Peeta?" I ask.

"Oh so you do remember his name!" Haymitch scoffs. "Any idea how close you came to losing them both?"

My silence is my answer.

Haymitch steps forward, his voice softer, lower.

"I will get you out of this pregnancy predicament. But you have got to start helping me out too. Understand?"

I bite my lip, nodding, feeling like a child after a dressing down. The grimace on Peeta's face replays in my head and I suddenly understand the expression when I had just asked him not to try anything rash.

"We need a game plan."

Haymitch frowns, looking off towards the Seam.

"Think you can get Gale to your old house for a little chit chat?"

~_Fin_


	14. Chapter 14

_April 24th, 2012_

_A/N: Finally! I am sooo sorry it took so long to update. This story was absolutely driving me crazy and I tried every trick I could think of to rid the cloud of writer's block that has completely engulfed me for the last month. I hope that you will all forgive me and accept that I really couldn't force myself to update for the sake of an update. I believe that that does my story, the characters, and most of all, my readers, an incredible disservice. I will take your anger with your greatly appreciated reviews. :)_

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><p>Haymitch has an interesting definition of chit chat. He spends the first twenty minutes pacing the room, only pausing once as if he were finally going to address us. Instead, he growls, mumbling incoherently and resumes his back and forth motions with renewed fervor. Peeta and I exchange confused looks, not very dissimilar to the looks of despair we shared before the Games when Haymitch imparted his token advice.<p>

_Stay alive_.

It dawns on me that I am still trying to do just that. But carving an existence that charts a vastly different course than the one planned for me is causing all sorts of complications to my original plan. All I had to do was convince Snow, go along with the charade when the cameras were around, and disappear to the woods to live the life I wanted.

Gale's stewing beside me, but he glances up, feeling my eyes on him. His hardened look melts a little around the edges and he nods, smiling crookedly, reassuringly at my panic stricken expression. Desperately, I clutch his hand when he reaches over to squeeze my fingers. The relief is only momentary because Haymitch wheels on us.

"That," he says, gesturing to our locked hands, "has got to stop!"

Immediately chastised, I attempt to let go, but Gale refuses to drop my hand. He scowls at Haymitch, his jaw setting determinedly and I feel the panic start to rise again. I've seen the look on Gale's face many times out in the woods when he loses his temper. The only thing I can think is that trees don't yell back.

Haymitch notes Gale's defiance with a flare of rage in his crazed eyes, but it quickly dissolves into sarcastic mirth. His laugh is more like a cackle, making the hair on my neck stand up on end. I try not to liken my mentor to the wild roving dog pack sensing an imminent kill. It must all be in my head because Gale would know better than to antagonize an aroused dog pack.

"I don't see what's so funny," he snaps. His jaw is so clenched that his lips barely move as he grates out the words.

Haymitch stops his maniacal laughter and leans in close enough to make Gale flinch from his unyielding breath.

"Do you think this is a joke, boy?"

"I'm not the one laughing."

They regard each other and I'm frantically thinking of something to say to dispel the tension before it reaches a boiling point.

"I don't think any of us finds this situation particularly humorous."

We all turn to stare at Peeta, who suddenly looks uncomfortable under all the attention. He shrugs, his eyes shifting nervously around, and I'd like to pretend that I don't notice how often they come to rest on me. I may not be able to communicate a silent message to Peeta. But I can clearly see the one he is sending me.

"So what's the plan?" I ask, deflecting some of the attention .

The change of subject makes everyone sit back and breathe a few easier breaths. I wish Gale would let go of my hand, and then immediately hate myself for thinking that and inadvertently clutching tighter. He lets his thumb run soothingly over my knuckles. Haymitch doesn't comment. Instead he pulls his displeased stare from us and turns to Peeta, though he speaks to both of us.

"First things first," he says. "Your plan is to run. Where are you heading?"

It's the first time I have even considered running _to_ somewhere. When Gale and I had talked about it, there was never a final destination in mind. We always just assumed we'd live deep in the woods. Moving around, tracking our next meal. Miles from the District 12 boundary. I hate that it takes Haymitch to point out the futility of that plan. Or lack of one.

"Ah, didn't think of that, did we?"

I expect the lecture, more snark and no sympathy. So when Haymitch reclaims his seat, inching it close to form a small circle, I'm taken aback by the soft tone to his voice.

"Now listen close and realize that what I am about to tell you," he starts, locking eyes with all of us in turn. "Cannot leave this room." Peeta nods emphatically and I find myself following his lead. Gale stares solemnly at Haymitch and it appears the resolve in his intense gray eyes is enough to satisfy Haymitch.

"There is a district north of here…" Haymitch says.

"Yeah, District Thirteen, but that's all been destroyed," Peeta says. He instantly quiets under Haymitch's glare.

"Capitol tell you that?" It's not meant to be a question. "That's what they want everyone to think. Truth is, Thirteen broke away. Years ago, the people overtook the nuclear factories and held them hostage against the Capitol. They demanded their freedom and in return, they would go quietly, allowing the Capitol to stage whatever it wanted. Thirteen is still alive and running."

"Independent of the Capitol?" I don't like the way Gale's eyes light up at this news.

Haymitch nods.

"If you could manage to make it there, your escape plan just may work."

"How do you know this?" I ask. It sounds plausible certainly, and I really have no reason to believe that Haymitch would knowingly send us to our doom, after working so hard to save us from the Arena.

"We don't have time for me to explain all that," Haymitch says, waving his hand to dismiss my skepticism. "Now, I can tell you how to get there, but until the time comes for you to leave, we have to continue to play their games." He looks pointedly at me, his eyes falling to my hand locked in Gale's. "So that, sweetheart, has got to stop."

Outside the wind whistles ominously by the corners of my home, the draft coursing beneath the narrow gap of the front door. It reminds me of the ever present Capitol and how Gale and I have continued to mock Snow's threat as if we had nothing to lose.

Gale and I have everything to lose.

Reluctantly, I attempt to free my hand, but Gale grips tighter. I give him a pleading look, one that tells him that while I'd rather not relinquish the contact, I have to start letting go sometime. The Capitol is the unchanging constant and I cannot, I will not let them tear us apart. If keeping us separated publicly is the best they can do, then we have already won. I see the defiance blaze in his eyes, the hardness of his rage twist his mouth, but my silent plea persists and he unlocks our fingers.

Haymitch gives a short satisfied nod and I try not to notice the simmering fury building beside me.

"Now, the Quarter Quell announcement is coming up," Haymitch says. "You will still be the center of attention as new mentors for the district. I think we should announce the pregnancy then. Give them something to swoon over."

As if the thought of facing the cameras and crowds was not enough, now I'm forced to consider facing it all with the giddy excitement of an expecting mother. An expecting mother carrying the child of her Capitol-turned-cousin while going along with the lie that it really is her pretend-lover-and-co-victor. The lurch in my stomach this time cannot be blamed on morning sickness. How am I supposed to convince anyone to buy this story when I am still reeling from the fact that I am pregnant in the first place?

I dislike the word. No matter how many times I try to toss it around in my head, it feels condemning and weighted. Speaking about my condition only serves to cement its concreteness. The permanence of the path that stretches before me looms like a dark void of ambiguity. I feel the panic start to flutter inside my chest and look to Gale for an encouraging smile. Instead, he fumes silently to the floor. I force myself to tune back into the conversation in time to see Haymitch seemingly waiting for an answer.

"What?" I ask.

"I asked you when the last time you even so much as kissed?"

Instinctively, I glance back to Gale who apparently has been listening because he looks up with a menacing look in his gray eyes. But Haymitch is only focused on his two Victors and I doubt he even remembers Gale's still in the room.

"I guess that means we're going to have to remedy that."

He folds his arms across the top of the chair and waits, his eyes slowly traveling between me and Peeta. At the same time, Peeta and I understand what Haymitch is waiting for, and I want to protest, though Peeta beats me to it.

"Like tonight?" Peeta asks.

"Yes, tonight," Haymitch snaps. "You better learn how to warm up here when no one's around to see." Peeta gapes at me. I do not miss the way his blue eyes dart quickly to Gale for a brief moment. Neither does Haymitch. "Well go on! He's going to have to learn to watch this too."

The look on Gale's face says he'd probably rather eat a raw rabbit.

Another second of reservation passes and it's clear that Peeta is not going to approach me. I'm going to have to bridge the space between us. Before Haymitch yells. Before Gale explodes.

Crossing the room and crushing my lips to Peeta's, I try not to think of the eyes boring into my back and in doing so, can think of nothing else. Everything about this feels so wrong. And not on Peeta's accord. Once his initial shock wears off, he actually starts to lead me. But his lips are moving in way that seems foreign and it's hard to follow him when all I want to do is pull away. Eventually, we do and I can see the sorrow in Peeta's blue eyes when he sees what must be a contorted grimace on my face.

"Well that was about as convincing as Effie's fashion sense," Haymitch says.

When I can't look at Peeta's pitying expression anymore, I turn around completely and immediately wish I hadn't. If looking at Peeta was hard, looking at Gale is heartbreaking. Gale's face is a mix of anger and pain, the darkness of his eyes dancing with repressed danger. What hurts the worst is the layers of pain I see reflected at me. Underneath the outward misery of having to watch that display burns something rooted between us.

_How could you?_ he's asking me.

_I had to_, I try to respond._ I have to in order to protect you._

Gale doesn't buy it. My world collapses when he stands and walks out the front door.

_~Fin_


	15. Chapter 15

_April 26th, 2012_

_A/N: I wish I knew why sometimes it is so easy to write the next chapter of this story and sometimes why it is so hard. My current theory is that updating seemed like a far better idea than studying. So instead of fighting, I went with it. Path of least resistance, you know. :) Also, thank you all so much for your endless patience and wonderful reviews! I probably deserved less than the open arms that welcomed me back after such a lengthy absence. So, in regards to all your kind words, there may be something as a bit of a thanks at the end of the chapter... ;) Enjoy! And as always, reviews are greatly appreciated!_

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><p>I know better than to go after Gale, but I do anyway. When he doesn't want to be found, he makes sure that he isn't. I'm able to follow his tracks through the Seam for the first two turns of his path. Then, his tracks completely disappear, obscured by the drifting snow. I curse the whistling wind and press on into the darkness.<p>

The cold wraps around me with its chilly fingers, worming their way through the worn fabric of my pants and the loose spaces of my father's too-big jacket. For once, I actually welcome the frigid sting. Cold eventually numbs.

I find myself before the Hawthorne house in the Seam. There's no light coming from the windows. Not even the telltale glow of a fire in the hearth. I peer through the window anyway. Only complete darkness greets me and while I wait for any sign of movement – I don't see any—my breath fogs up the glass.

Trying to determine my next move, I look up and down the empty street. Several houses have thin wisps of smoke streaming from their chimneys, the yellow eyes of their windows staring at me as if to ask, "Why are you out so late, little girl?" I feel like a little girl, lost and wandering aimlessly to find her family. Except I'm not the one who is lost.

My indecision heightens my solitude. I start walking for the sake of action and scowl at my feet because the one person who usually has a plan is not here to direct me. Anger seeps into my blood and I wholeheartedly embrace the emotion. It is much easier to deal with than despair. And I have every right to be angry. At Gale, for thinking that I had wanted to kiss Peeta. At the Capitol, for making me have to kiss Peeta. At Haymitch, for instructing me to kiss Peeta. At Peeta, because… well…

I really don't have a legitimate reason to be mad at Peeta, other than to be angry at his existence. Which isn't fair because he didn't ask to be brought into this district, or reaped into the Games only to emerge as my co-Victor. But I am mad at Peeta. For loving me. No one forced him to do that. If he didn't love me, then he wouldn't have confessed at the interviews and thrown us into this hopeless and tiresome charade to convince the Capitol that we are star-crossed lovers. It all comes back to the Capitol!

I kick at a pile of snow, the little flakes I send high into the night sky not nearly as satisfying as I wanted it to be. Now I know why Gale yells in the woods. The woods!

I'm running as hard as I can back the other direction. Skidding on frozen pools of black ice doesn't stop me from taking the shortest route I know. Even running over the narrow ledge of the dam. I pause before the fence, hunching over to catch my breath, choking on the sharpness of the cold air. It tastes bitter in the back of my throat as I stare into the dark expanse that would be the Meadow. Trying to ignore the lack of imprint in the snow beneath the loose part of the fence, I'm about to slide under when I hear it.

The faint buzz of electricity. Voltage so high it could kill arcing along the wires at some incomprehensible speed.

Panic starts to overtake me again as I think of Gale stranded on the other side. The forest is no place to be after dark. The thought makes me instantly calmer. Of course, Gale knows this. He was the one always cautioning me not to venture there after sunset. Humans are at a distinct disadvantage to the nocturnal predators that roam there, he had said. I scowl at the fence anyway, because that just leaves me with the Victor's Village and I know Gale won't be there.

It feels like it takes less time than usual to get back to the square. I think it's because I needed my own time alone and now that I've arrived, it appears that I will no longer have that luxury.

Hazelle is bent over a steaming mug of tea when I push through the kitchen door. I already know they will be empty, but I search the other chairs anyway.

"He's not here, Katniss," she says softly. The kindness in her eyes seems unwarranted after the pain I just caused her son, and I have to look away as my throat constricts, my body finally shuddering against the first wave of grief. "Let me get you some tea."

Not even bothering to remove my coat or boats, I slump into a chair. The frozen clumps of snow that have fallen begin melting into muddy pools on the tile. I can't find it in myself to care that my mother will be disappointed in me when she sees the tracks tomorrow. I have no intention of cleaning them up tonight.

"Here." Hazelle sets a mug in front of me, and I gratefully wrap my fingers around the warm ceramic.

"How did you know who I was looking for?" I ask.

"Haymitch and Peeta came back about an hour ago," she says. "They said you and Gale had a fight. That you went after him."

I have a vague memory of Haymitch exasperatedly yelling somethin g about history repeating itself, but the door was already slamming behind me. I think of Peeta, once again, having to calm our mentor and briefly feel guilty.

Hazelle studies me for a moment, then reaches across the table and gently squeezes my arm. I cannot bring myself to look at her as I continue to fight back tears. "Don't worry, Katniss. Gale will come around," she says, smiling sadly. "He always does."

I nod my agreement, not trusting my voice. Hazelle doesn't pry, so we sit silently, our thoughts both revolving around Gale. She adds another sugar cube to her mug, stirring it gently, before looking up to catch me staring at her. I know I should look away, but I can't seem to. Something in her eyes waits patiently for me to speak, and it occurs to me that she knows before I do that I'm struggling to find the right words.

"I love him," I say. There is no surprise in Hazelle's expression, though I can feel the stretch of surprise on my own face. That was not what I had expected to come pouring out of me. I think that I should feel embarrassed at admitting this, but there is no rush of heat to my cheeks. Hazelle simply fixes me with another smile.

"I know," she says, a pleasant laugh trailing her words. "I think I've known well before both of you realized it."

Now I feel sheepish. "We were that obvious?"

"Well not then," she explains. "Oblivious was more like it. Recently, yes, it's been more obvious though." I bite my lip, not sure how much I'm willing to reveal just yet. She mistakes this for discomfort. "It's okay, Katniss."

"Except it's not," I say, shaking my head. Hazelle's forehead knits in confusion. "All I do is hurt him. I don't meant to but…" My voice trails off, though I gesture to the empty crate that held my wedding dresses, still sitting on the kitchen floor.

Hazelle looks sadly at the box and then back to me.

"He just needs some time," she says. She stands and collects our mugs. "Come on. Tomorrow is another day."

Taking one last long look at the crate, I follow her out of the kitchen.

* * *

><p>Gale comes back sometime in the night. It must have been in the early morning hours, because I stayed awake for a while. Well past midnight. Tossing and turning. Wrestling with worry. Losing to exhaustion. When I wake wrapped in his arms, I think I am dreaming. Partly because I don't startle at the sight of an intruder in my bed, but mostly because I find it hard to believe he has forgiven me so quickly.<p>

"Where did you go?" I ask, my voice slow with sleep. I watch him through bleary eyes as he shakes his head, smiling at me almost bashfully.

"It doesn't matter," he says. "I shouldn't have left you."

Gale pulls me closer, tucking me under his chin before I can argue that it matters to me.

"I won't tell Prim on you," I mumble into his chest. His soft laugh makes me look up to catch the light in his eyes.

"Promise?"

My kiss is my answer. I mean it to be sweet, chaste even, but when I pull back, Gale's eyes burn into mine. He leans in again, shifting over me to kiss me so deeply the headiness leaves me clutching his shoulders for support against the invisible sensation of falling. Which is utterly impossible when I am trapped so securely beneath Gale.

"I've got you," he whispers. He smiles against my lips, his hands starting to track the expanses of skin under my nightshirt.

"I believe you," I say.

And I do. Enough to let him teach me an entirely different kind of vertigo.

_~Fin_


	16. Chapter 16

_May 15th, 2012_

_A/N: This chapter may be a litte bit of filler, but there were a couple of key things that I had to sort of lay down before the fun stuff can continue. First off, I tried to make it as obvious as possible that there is a little bit of a time jump here. I didn't think anyone would enjoy two months of horrible winter weather, recovering Gale, and basically endless trips to the Hob. Secondly, I'm once again writing this in the midst of several exams and this one particular convo between Gale and Katniss just had to happen here. (They were adamant about this, so blame them! :D)_

_Also, a few reviewers seemed worried that Gale had gone off and done something rather rash when he bolted from Katniss' Seam home after the confrontation with Haymitch. No worries, I will put it to rest right now, that while I cannot tell you (yet) where he went, he most definitely did not cheat on Katniss or do anything to betray her in anyway. I promise._

_As for the bugged houses, it is my belief that only the Victors mansions are wired/tapped. I have tried to write it so that Katniss and Gale and Peeta are unaware of this and so have conversations pretty freely anywhere, but Haymitch seems to suspect and/or know about the potential danger of someone listening in. He's the one always dragging everyone outside or to the Seam to have their chit-chats. Don't worry here either... it will come back to get them sooner rather than later (Read on)._

_As always, reviews are appreciated and thank you all to my wonderful reviewers. OVER 300? I'm so honored and flattered by all your comments._

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><p>Gale and his family continue to live with us, though my mother cleared him of his concussion a week ago. Which is more than fine by me. The place doesn't seem as foreign when there are so many people milling about. After my confession, Hazelle is a steady presence in the whirlwind of the younger kids running up and down the halls, the constant stream of my mother's patients in and out of the house. The increased capacity does make it harder for me to sneak in private moments with Gale, but we find ways to steal a kiss here, or surrender to a touch there.<p>

Mainly though, we converse with our eyes, further developing an ability that used to ensure our efficiency in the forest. Where once it was a tool of survival, our silent way of speaking has now become a means of indulgence. One night, as we were all gathered around the dinner table, Gale started shooting me looks so full of desire and want, I choked on my tea and had to splutter through my mortification, gasping, "Swallowed wrong," by way of explanation, which only made Gale's grin turn wickedly naughty.

I got my retribution later that night.

Gale makes a routine of sneaking into my room once his brothers have fallen asleep. And with both of us being early risers, no one thinks to question us when we are already gone to the forest when they wake up.

We spend the next several weeks continuing to stockpile supplies for our escape. It seems even more immediate now that Haymitch is officially on board. I am actually relieved to have him in charge now. It takes some of the pressure off, and I am able to focus on the simpler things. Like keeping food down.

My morning sickness is as fierce as ever. Though I'd eaten better in the months since becoming a victor than I had my entire life, I was still on the thin side, so skipping essentially one meal a day did take its toll. I thought I had been doing a good job of hiding it, even from Gale. The sharp angle of my hips softened considerably under the low glow of moonlight, but the harsh light of day only deepened the shadows along my skin.

Recently, Gale's been disappearing to the woods long before the morning sun can throw those shadows into distinct relief. At least, that's where he's told me he's been going. Sometimes when he returns and I bury myself in his embrace by way of good morning, he smells less like pine and more like coal. The one time I tried to ask him, he silenced me effectively with a kiss.

At first, I'd been hurt that he'd leave without me, but as the weeks went by, I became more and more grateful for the extra few hours of sleep. Growing another person is exhausting.

I still can't believe how much I'm already beginning to show. Rotating from side to side, I study myself in the mirror, my hands instinctively coming to cradle the slight swell of my belly, my mind's eye painting an illusion I might have five months from now. Everyone smiles in my daydreams. Though, my heart still beats too rapidly when I consider actually holding this baby, the apprehension fades and their smiles tease out a tentative one of my own.

"Katniss?"

There's a knock at the door that effectively startles me back to the present fully. I smooth out my nightshirt even though I have nothing to hide from the person behind that voice.

"Katniss, can I come in?"

Gale cracks the door before I can answer. It doesn't matter. I was going to say yes anyway.

"The snow's all gone," he says, stepping into the bathroom and quietly closing the door behind him. "Practically feels like spring out there. See?"

Gale pulls his hand out from behind his back, revealing a small gathering of white posies and a few wild tiger lilies. He holds the flowers out to me slowly, his forehead scrunching the way it does when he's uncertain.

"Does this make me your girlfriend now?" I tease, putting him at ease when I accept the gift. It is an old tradition in District 12 for a boy to present a token – usually flowers or a simple bracelet—to a girl when he wants to ask her to be his significant other. If she accepts, they are officially a couple. If not, well, at least he has his pride.

"You mean you didn't get that from this?" Gale sinks to his knees and lightly rests his hands over my stomach. His eyes shine impishly as he looks up at me.

I can't help the smile that creeps across my face though I try to make my tone serious. "I don't think that getting someone pregnant counts as a gift."

"Ah, and here I thought I was being original," Gale quips back. We share a laugh before the moment sobers.

"Would you like to see?" I whisper, already starting to pull my nightshirt up.

Gale gapes slightly, his eyebrows raised in wonder, as his hands find the curve of my skin. They are just big enough to completely cover the bump, but it won't be long before that becomes impossible. My hands cover his, gently squeezing his fingers when Gale suddenly frowns.

"We have to tell them, Katniss," he says, standing and locking our hands, so I can't turn away. This is not the first time we've had this discussion in recent weeks and I know that my time of hiding under loose shirts is dwindling with every passing day. "They should hear it from us first."

I know what he means. That our mothers should hear about their grandchild from Gale and me, before the entire nation hears a lie from Peeta.

And Gale's right. But I had asked Peeta to announce my condition at the Quell for precisely the same reason I had asked Gale to let me put off telling our mothers for a few more weeks. Just the thought of their reactions terrifies me. What will they say? What will they think? I am just seventeen, Gale, nineteen, and while plenty of people in the Seam are married with children at our ages, it still seems too young.

I nod, my tongue already feeling swollen in my mouth. Gale sees my rising apprehension and folds me into his arms. His closeness helps me find my strength.

"We'll have to tell them everything," I say.

"Yeah, I know," Gale says. He tries unsuccessfully to hide the waver in his voice and I wonder who he's more worried about. His mother. Or mine.

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><p>That afternoon, Peeta comes by to collect Gale and me per Haymitch's request. Gale frowns as we head over, and I feel my chest constrict at the thought of another stand-off between the two. Peeta leads us through the front door into a side room where we've been stocking our overflow. Haymitch turns from surveying the piles of supplies and nods a greeting. He and Gale exchange a surreptitious look, but when I question Gale with my eyes, he just shakes his head.<p>

_Later?_ I ask silently.

Gale doesn't answer me.

Something hot flashes through me at his refusal to answer. Gale and I have never kept secrets. Not from each other anyway. My nose burns with the phantom smell of coal and I cannot help the glare I aim his direction. He flinches when he catches the heat out of the corner of his eye and I feel some satisfaction at the acknowledgment.

It takes them an hour to finalize the last minute items we need to acquire. The entire time my eyes never leave Gale. I don't really know what he's been up to, and though I have no reason to believe his random outings have anything to do with Haymitch, the coincidental look has me seeing red and I'm determined to find out.

* * *

><p>"What was that?" I demand, the second Gale and I are back.<p>

"What?" he asks, too innocently.

Gale still won't look at me, as he shrugs out of his jacket and hooks it on the coat rack. I'm hot on his heels when he heads for the kitchen, no doubt trying to head off my anger by surrounding me with family. I don't like losing my temper in front of Prim. No one knows that more than Gale. But my rage is practically nuclear at this point and I'm not backing down.

"I saw the look you gave Haymitch!" I say. "And just where are you going so early in the morning? What aren't you telling me? What's going on?"

Gale stops walking right as we enter the kitchen and turns to face me. Before he can answer, my mother cuts in.

"Yes, Katniss," she says, slowly. "What _is _going on?"

Gale and I turn simultaneously toward her. Hazelle stands by her side, though her expression does not seem so surprised as my mother's. When I finally drop my gaze to her hand, I see the tiny basket she holds in her hands.

"This came for you. Just now."

I don't even have to ask who it's from. The white wicker basket wrapped in clear cellophane tied with an elaborate yellow bow and a card adorned with the seal of Panem is a dead giveaway. Gold script jubilantly exclaims _Congratulations! _As I break the seal on the card, I peek inside the basket and instantly see the cause of my mother's shock. Tucked among the tissue paper is a baby's rattle.

_~Fin_


	17. Chapter 17

_Chapter 17_

_A/N: I don't think I can apologize enough for the unexpected lengthy hiatus this story underwent. Unfortunately, life and writer's block collaborated to prevent me from updating for a while. I was so frustrated because of the lack of ideas for the necessary scene that starts this chapter. Every time I sat down to try to write it, it just came out wrong. To be honest, I'm not sure I am entirely satisfied with this version, but its at least passable. I know my readers deserve better than that, and I promise to make up for it in the following chapters. I have a good idea where this story is going now and hope to continue updating. That being said, I will warn any reader that has bravely and graciously ventured back to story that updates will be less frequent than usual. I do hope to post in greater length though, so hopefully that will make it a little easier to stomach. So glad to be back writing and thanks for all your patience and kind words!_

* * *

><p>The gift basket in my hands begins to shake, the cellophane crinkling with the movement. When the rattle awakens from the increased ferocity of my unsteady hands, Gale silently takes the basket from me and guides me toward a seat at the kitchen table. I slump more than sit, the weight of my body suddenly leaden and cumbersome.<p>

I think someone has asked a question, but the voice sounds muffled and barely registers in my fogged head.

Then I feel their eyes on me. The kitchen comes into focus with startling clarity.

"I'm sorry, what?" I ask.

"I asked, is it true?" my mother says again. Her eyes are a piercing blue and my face heats instantly. My mouth gapes, and once again, I am thinking how hard can it be to answer such a simple question. But I don't have too.

"Yes," Gale says. I meet his eyes and he gives me a tense smile. "It is."

Even though Gale has confirmed the worst, my mother's stare never wavers from me, not once. Only when Gale slides into the seat next to me and folds his fingers into mine does her focus shift to him. She considers the two of us for a moment. I think I see her lips almost twist into a smile before she presses them firmly together. It makes her look even more menacing and I avert my eyes, feeling shame color my cheeks.

Hazelle is the first to move as she finds a seat on the other side of Gale. The movement dissipates the building tension like a gentle breeze ushering along oppressive summer heat when it settles for too long.

"Well congratulations!" She smiles at us and Gale looks away slightly embarrassed. She glances to my mother who has set a kettle on the stove and is now rummaging through the cabinets reserved for herbs and other medicines. "How far along are you?"

The slight pause in my mother's motions tells me that this question is one she was going to ask as well.

"Almost four, I think."

Hazelle nods, smiling encouragingly, and I begin to feel relieved that at least one of the baby's grandmothers is excited for its arrival.

My mother returns with the steaming pot and mugs that she sets before each of us. Hazelle helps herself to some tea, pouring some each for Gale and me, but my attention is back on my mother. She unwraps a package that I've seen her hand out to some of the other women in the Seam from time to time. Inside are smaller packets labeled with her careful penmanship.

"You need to drink these daily," she instructs, carefully unwrapping one of the small packets and emptying the contents in my tea. I watch the smashed leaves of some herbs I probably collected for her swirl on the surface. The aroma wafting up with the steam smells less than appealing. My face must reflect my thoughts because my mother repeats, "Every day, Katniss." Then softer, "It will help with the morning sickness."

I nod obediently and feel compelled to try the herbal brew. The hot liquid is bitter on my tongue but manageable enough to swallow.

"It's not bad," I say.

My mother smiles, as does Hazelle, though Gale doesn't look convinced. He leans close and inadvertently inhales a whiff, scrunching his nose at the smell.

"Better you than me, Catnip."

I punch his arm in my irritation, and he cowers along to my game. Intensely aware of our mothers' watchful gaze, we suddenly turn to them. They share a conspiratorial smile and I feel some of the fear still clinging inside my chest start to melt.

"Oh, I… I just…" Then my mother is hugging me tightly, and I let myself feel the happiness and warmth of her embrace. When she steps back, there are happy tears in her eyes. She swipes at them and then clasps her hands in front of her like she used to when my father had done something to surprise her.

"We should celebrate!"

* * *

><p>I feel like I've slept forever but even still, my stomach feels full with the celebration my mother had in mind. She'd pulled out all the stops and everyone ate until we were groaning in sated pain. I vaguely recall falling asleep on Gale's shoulder, the warmth of his body on my left, the warmth of the fire seeping through on my right. He must have carried me up after I had fallen asleep.<p>

My eyes open to Gale's back, sitting on the edge of the bed, the slight movement of his shirt across his shoulders the only indication that he's tying his boots. I turn my head, the barest hint of sunlight stretching its way between the crack in the curtains. Hunting is always best before dawn. I know that.

Yet, I don't want him to leave. But, I also don't want to leave the warmth of the covers. Stretching my fingertips, I'm just able to touch the taut muscle beneath his shirt. He turns to look at me, a crooked smile twisting his mouth when he sees me watching him through bleary eyes.

"Hey," Gale says.

"Where are you going?" I mumble, my voice thick with sleep. He leans over and gently kisses my forehead.

"I have to get something," he says, "I'll be back."

His vagueness pulls me upright, though I still have to rub my eyes to keep them from closing involuntarily. I want to stay under the covers, but I want to know what Gale's been doing so early even more. It's not for lack of trust, but he and Haymitch clearly have something planned, and I don't want to carry around the shadow of paranoia anymore.

"Can I come with you?" I ask.

Gale slips into his heavier hunting jacket and considers me momentarily. By the way his eyes glance towards the door and then back again, I imagine he's going to refuse. But then the steely gray softens with another larger smile.

"Well that depends," he teases. "How fast can you get dressed?"

* * *

><p>It doesn't take me long to realize that whatever Gale's been doing, it's not hunting. He doesn't even stop by the old hollowed oak to retrieve our bows after we've slipped under the fence. Doesn't even pause to check a single snare though the path we take weaves us across our snare line. Despite the relative gloom of the early morning woods, my feet recognize the trail after a few more minutes following Gale.<p>

"What do you need at the cabin?" I ask him.

I don't bother to keep my voice down. It's not like we could shoot something even if we startled it into view.

"I don't need anything at the cabin."

He holds a pine branch aside and lets me pass him before letting it go. The evergreen whips back and forth, a shower of needles adding to the forest floor.

"Then why are we going there?" I say, stopping and turning to face him.

"You'll see," he smirks down at me, ruffling my hair as pushes past me.

I scowl at his back. I've never been fond of his cryptic games when he has a secret and he knows that I'm dying to know it. I used to nag him incessantly to reveal whatever he was hiding, but he only became more and more vague. More and more infuriating.

"Come on, Catnip," he calls back over his shoulder. "The faster we get there, the sooner you get your answer."

"Gale," I say, hurrying a little to make up for his long strides. "Why can't you just tell me?"

"Where would the fun in that be?"

"I don't like surprises."

"Who says it's a surprise?"

"You didn't have to," I say. "You only act like this when it is."

He stops outside the cabin door, carefully orienting himself to block my entrance.

"You could tell me thank you now, or…" He leans into me like he wants a kiss, but I pull back slightly, though it's impossible to keep up my annoyance when his fingers curl against my arms, the solid weight of him surrounding me.

"Just open the door, Gale," I command, as he trails a string of kisses along my jaw. My breath hitches and it comes out a lot breathier and less forceful than I want.

He laughs at my failed anger and pushes the door aside, gesturing grandly for me to enter. I roll my eyes but can't help the smile that pulls at my mouth. A smile that quickly dwindles into a gasp of pleasant shock when I see what he's done.

Our entire stockpile of supplies has been carefully arranged into separate packs that sit neatly along the hearth. The larger of the packs have sleeping bags rolled and strapped to them. The smaller ones are no less stuffed full but when I pick one up, I can tell that they've been smartly loaded with the lighter supplies. No doubt, these four are meant for Prim, Vick, Rory, and Posy. I move on to examine the bigger packs, unclipping the flap and sifting through its contents. The mess that was strewn about Haymitch's spare room has somehow orderly repackaged itself inside each bag. How long must that have taken him? Not only to pack everything but to bring it all out here?

I turn to look at Gale who in turn is watching me. He looks almost shy in the way his eyebrows pull together anxiously, the crease in his forehead deepening.

I could tell him thank you, or I could…

I don't mean for our mouths to connect with such force, but my momentum propels me into his arms and I like the way he grunts against my lips. I pull back, but stay close so that I can still smell the sharp mint on his breath from chewing leaves as we walked. His dark eyes beg me to kiss him again, and I do, a quick brush against his mouth, the chaste thank you I meant to give.

"You're welcome," Gale whispers huskily. I fail miserably at controlling the tremor that rolls down my spine. "But that wasn't even your surprise."

I search his eyes, back and forth and back again.

"Come on," he laughs, grabbing my hand and pulling me back out into the early morning.

Gale leads me to our place. Except, as we approach, I can see two figures already there. Their presence makes me uneasy, and I pause letting Gale ahead of me. His strides are long and easy, no apprehension whatsoever in his movement, so I follow albeit cautiously. The closer I get, the more features I can resolve, and I smile when I realize it's Peeta and Haymitch, not Peacekeepers or complete strangers, though inside something twists heavily in my heart.

It strikes me that the harsh warmth spreading throughout me may be a possessive jealousy that our spot is no longer just _our_ spot.

In fact, our spot has been transformed into a functional archery station. Targets sit at various distances down the sloping valley. The ledge where Gale and I shared so many meager breakfasts and secrets holds several bows, two of which I recognize as our hunting bows. This explains why Gale didn't even stop by the hollowed oak for our weapons – they were already here.

I hardly know what to say as Gale crouches down to retrieve one of the bows. It glints subtly in the dawning light and he hands it to me, along with a matching sheath filled with arrows.

Gingerly, almost as if I'm afraid of being bitten, I wrap my fingers around the riser. Despite its hefty appearance, the bow is surprisingly light but familiar. I examine the limbs, gauge the tension of the bow string, and suddenly I understand the recognition in my fingertips. Save the color, this bow is crafted exactly like the silver bow I used in the Games. I glance up at Gale, though he's already managed to read the question about to spring off my lips.

"Same exact one," he says. "Though I thought the brown would be better for hunting than the silver."

"But how…" I stutter. "When did…?"

"I had some help with the details," Gale answers, gesturing towards Haymitch. "Apparently there's a black market within the Hob."

"Still his idea," Haymitch says. "Only wanted the best for you." He rolls his eyes as if the romanticism is lost on him, but the gleam in them tells me otherwise. That, or he's just satisfied he can make Gale flush.

I am at a total loss for words. It explains the coal smell on Gale's clothes, why he kept disappearing and I could tell he wasn't hunting, the looks he and Haymitch would exchange. Suddenly, it's a lot to swallow and I round on the only person who hasn't explained his presence.

"You were in on it too?"

Peeta shrugs a non-answer. Then without warning, he grabs the bow I hadn't realized he was holding and fires an arrow at the nearest target. It doesn't strike the center circle, but as the arrow's tail vibrates mockingly from its flight, I feel my mouth slacken with astonishment.

Peeta shot an arrow. Peeta shot an arrow… _Peeta hit a target!_

"I know I'm not a dead ringer like you, but at least I can make them think twice if they decide to follow us," Peeta grins.

"I… I don't…" I shake my head, trying to loosen the grip surprise has cast over me. "I don't even know what to say."

"You never were too good at talking, sweetheart," Haymitch says, though his tone is light-hearted despite his insulting words. "How about I see the two of you in action?" He gestures wildly to Gale and me.

When I look to Gale, he's already grinning and moving to cover my left side. He waits for me to nock my arrow and then with the most imperceptible nod, we turn and fire at criss-crossing targets across the field in one fluid motion.

Our arrows zip lethally through the lifting morning fog, the simultaneous impact coalescing into a single sound. I've hit the center of the target straight on. Gale's arrow wavers just as deadly, even if it is just slightly off center.

Haymitch whistles an admiring note.

"Now that would have them lining up to be your sponsors!"

The satisfied smiles on our faces are impossible to suppress.

I haven't had a chance to practice just for the sake of practice since the Games. And then, training was always marred by the terrible fact that I was practicing not just to save my own life, but to possibly take others. I forgot how much I missed the anticipation of the shot, the tranquil moment of control that descends before I release the arrow, the thrill of seeing it fly true into the heart of each target.

Haymitch stands watch as Gale and I show off a few more tricks we learned after hunting together for so long. Peeta shoots a few more arrows too. With some gentle guidance, he's able to zero in on the targets with more consistency. When we break for a rest, I think that having three armed runners will definitely ease the burden I had just expected to share with Gale.

"Now, you remember your compass heading?" Haymitch prods.

I listen closely as I slather some cheese on a slice of bread Peeta hands me.

"Eight degrees east of north," he says.

Gale nods his agreement.

"Good," Haymitch says. "And don't forget it. Effie says they're increasing Peacekeepers for the Quell announcement. They'll be here in two days, so I'd get going tomorrow if you can."

I all but choke on my breakfast, looking between them with what can only be horrified shock on my face. Gale presses his lips together, tight enough that his mouth becomes nothing but a dark line. He's actively seeking and avoiding my questioning gaze because he knows what I am silently screaming at him.

We have less than 24 hours to convince my mother, Hazelle, Prim, Rory, Vick, and Posy to disappear with us into a forbidden forest to find a district that supposedly was destroyed almost a century ago with only myself, Gale and Peeta as navigation and security.

I don't include Haymitch. We didn't pack booze so I highly doubt he'll be of much help in either department when withdrawal catches up to him.

Without a word, I spin on my heel, striding away.

"Where are you going?" Haymitch calls after me.

"Home!" I call over my shoulder. "To pack!"

Though I don't hear his footsteps, I can feel Gale following behind me.

_~Fin_


	18. Chapter 18

_Chapter 18  
>January 6th, 2014<em>

_A/N: FINALLY! I can't tell you how long I've been trying to get this out of me. But it finally happened, and if by any chance, dear readers, you have found the patience in yourselves that I can only beg you for, I am forever in your debt. Hopefully, the next few will be far less painful and faster coming. Also, if you have read Something Like Danger 2, this update is the exact same version, only it's finally posted where it needs to be. As always, reviews are appreciated!_

* * *

><p>"Katniss!"<p>

"Katniss, wait!"

I'm almost to the Victor's Village when Gale catches my arm. When I whirl to face him, he lets go and steps back, his hands raised defensively. His gray eyes search me, startled and worried, and it is only then I feel my chest heaving in deep ragged breaths.

I must look as out of control as I feel.

The adrenaline and panic in me starts to subside when I close my eyes to gather myself. But the despair that slides into its place is not as supportive. I feel weak and deflated. While it isn't yet warm by any stretch of the imagination, it is far from cold, so the shudder that ripples through me stems from something other than a chill. But fear is a kind of chill, I think.

"Catnip?"

Though my head is starting to pound with beginnings of a headache, I open my eyes. Gale's face hovers before mine and his closeness makes the world lose focus and spin dangerously. I blink rapidly, trying to orient myself, relying on the warm feel of his hands on my shoulders to keep me from falling.

"Maybe you should sit down?"

I shake my head, the fury still pounding like an unfaltering metronome.

"No, Gale! I don't need to sit down!" I spit the words like venom, and though Gale always has had a thick skin, I see him flinch at my tone. A part of my heart wrenches and tells me to apologize immediately, but a larger part still beats wildly in self-driven panic.

"What I need is for you to not keep me in the dark. I don't need your protection! I don't need anyone's protection!"

"Is there a problem here?"

A Peacekeeper approaches us, his rifle held at the ready in his left hand, while his right pulls up the visor of his helmet. Despite the hardness in his eyes, he looks young. Maybe not much older than Gale, and he tries to hide that by standing a little straighter when he is close enough to appreciate Gale's height.

"Is he bothering you, Miss?" he asks me specifically.

"No, no," I stammer.

"Can I escort you to your final destination, then?"

He ends this question with a pointed look at Gale. I'm not sure the Peacekeeper sees the fingers clench threateningly into a fist, but I do, and I start walking again, tugging Gale's arm behind me and out of sight.

"No, it's okay," I say, forcing a smile and shoving Gale awkwardly through the gated entrance to the Victor's Village. "We are here anyway."

I can feel his eyes on my back as I turn and follow Gale up the stairs to my house. Gale steps aside and lets me fumble with the key. It takes everything in me not to look back at our audience of one. Eventually, the deadbolt clicks and I stroll as casually as I can into the house. Gale shuts the door with a tense carefulness, sliding the lock before turning back to face me. The muscles of his jaw flex a few times and then we're at it again, all fire and fury and tempers.

"It's my job to protect you! It always has been and always will be!" he says, trying to keep his voice down and failing.

"I never asked you to!" I snap back. "And I don't appreciate not being included!"

"I was trying to surprise you, take some of the burden off your back. That's all!"

"What is going on here?"

Hazelle stands in the hallway entrance to the kitchen, her floured hands on her hips as if she caught two children arguing over something trivial. Prim and my mother are quick to appear just behind her, Prim's wide eyes staring at me with a hint of alarm.

Quickly, Gale and I glance at each other, silently agreeing to put our disagreement on hold.

"We need to go for a walk," I say.

"All of us," Gale adds.

Hazelle frowns, her eyes focused on her eldest son for what seems like an insatiable amount of time. It is only the terse nod that gives away her agreement. She looks to my mother with a determined expression, one that is probably not needed by the way my mother looks as if she is a lost lamb in need of shepherding.

"All right," Hazelle agrees. "We'll grab our coats…"

"Layer up," Gale interrupts. "It's still very cold outside."

Our two families separate into their respective rooms within the house. Soon the sound of shutting closet doors and shuffling drawers fills the almost quiet. Rory and Vick seem to think this adventure is exciting and badger Gale for an indication of what this surprise walk might entail.

"You'll see when we get there," Gale says, though I'm sure only I can hear the subdued strain in his voice.

I'm helping Prim zip up over the layers and layers I handed her to wear. She silently, trustingly, forced each additional shirt over her head, never questioning my insane demands. When she reaches for her hairbrush on the dresser's top, I hesitate. Only essentials need to come, I think instinctually. But Prim hands it to me, bidding me to look closer and see what it really is she is trying to ask.

It's Town-made, that much is clear as soon as the sanded and polished wood hits my hand. The dark chestnut stain is that of mahogany, its smooth satiny surface only interrupted by an intricate design on inlaid ivory winged birds in flight. My mother's wedding present, one of the few gifts given to her by my father.

I swallow hard.

"Tuck it in somewhere safe, little duck."

We are the last two to arrive back in the foyer. Everyone looks stuffed to the gills, like linen and cotton marshmallows. The picture would be humorous if the "walk" we were about to take didn't entail running for our lives.

"Where are we going, Gale?" Posy chirps, her cheeks already bright pink from being overdressed.

"Downtown," he lies. Then he looks to me, the smile disappearing. "Ready?"

* * *

><p>People are too worried about violating the many rules the new Peacekeepers have brought with them to notice us. I didn't think there would ever be a time that I would be thankful for the Capitol and its overbearing ways, but this does let us get to the edges of the Seam without any trouble.<p>

Along the way, Gale and I have managed to whisper the bullet points of this trek to our mothers. Having them understand and on our side makes it far easier to keep our siblings close in tow.

We pass the Hawthorne's small house when Posy senses something is up. Vick, Rory, and Prim have started to catch on to the anxious atmosphere and have thought better than to ask. But Posy is just five and can't possibly be expected to grip the gravity of our situation.

"We went the wrong way," she laughs. "That was our house back there!"

Gale and I flinch, her squeals of delight carrying in the dead silence. He opens his mouth in response, but we both turn to the faint sound of boots crunching over gravel.

In an instant, we're flattened to the house walls, Gale shoving our families into the shadows before coming to crouch next to me. Prim buries her face into my mother's shoulder and I have to look away from the utter terror on her face. I hear Gale's breath even out and force mine to do the same. Soft, shallow inhales. Our eyes meet briefly before locking on the direction of the approaching sound. There's little cover for him and us to hide behind with everyone else squirreled away in the recesses and when the lone Peacekeeper steps around one of abandoned buildings, I can only hope that my father's hunting jacket and Gale's worn flannel blend us into the winter weary ground. We are both too afraid to move.

The Peacekeeper strides a little closer, only occasionally throwing glances to the woods beyond the fence. He seems much more preoccupied with who might be following him by the way he stares back towards the center of the Seam. After a moment, he props his gun against the wall of an old mining home and pulls a cigarette box from his pocket. He flips the shield of his helmet and lights up and turns away from us. But not before I get a good look at his face.

Almost in unison, Gale and I risk a glance at each other. Our eyes practically shout the same question.

_Who is he?_

It's clear neither of us recognize him. My own ignorance of the Peacekeepers doesn't alarm me as much as Gale's confusion. As a Victor, I had taken advantage of my celebrity status by not having to worry about the armed guard around District 12. Barring an overt crime, I was pretty much a privileged citizen in their eyes and to some, was even ranked above them in terms of community hierarchy. Peacekeepers were rotated through the mines so Gale's exposure to them was a lot more intimate than my own experience. But if Gale didn't at least recognize him, that had me worried.

And here we were. Pressed to the dilapidated wall of a rundown house on the outskirts of the Seam with two families hiding in the shadows. Not even my victor status could save us if we were caught.

As the Peacekeeper blows smoke into the infantile spring air, Gale gently bumps my arm for my attention. He doesn't take his eyes off the armed guard when he talks, his voice barely a whisper.

"Stay here," he says, "I'm going to circle around."

"What?" I hiss. "Gale, that's cr—"

My voice rises without my consent because I'm already ten steps ahead in this conversation and I don't like what Gale's suggesting one bit. Gale's hand clamps down over my mouth hard enough that I think I might have bruises on my cheeks.

"Katniss, listen." He unleashes the full weight of his gray eyes on me and I know I'm going to agree to his plan before he says it. "I'm going to the mill…" I nod. The old flour mill two blocks down has been empty for decades, a leftover relic from when District 12 had enough of a population to sustain two bakeries. Gale and I had used it many times when we had a plentiful hunt and needed two trips to haul our catch to the Hob. It provided an excellent vantage point of the fence and nearby houses. "Stay right here until I draw him away. Then get them under the fence and into the forest. Get to Peeta and Haymitch."

I narrow my eyes at him, silently asking a question I'm sure he can easily see.

"If I'm not there in five minutes, leave."

He misunderstood me. Frustration wells up in my eyes. It takes Gale less than a second to realize his mistake.

"I'll be right behind you," he says softly. "Like always."

Gale lifts his hand from my mouth, raising a warning finger against me speaking. It's effective at keeping me from arguing, because I know I have no ability to keep my voice down when my throat clenches and my chest tightens like this.

Glancing once in the direction of our unwanted friend and seeing his back still towards us, I turn and pull Gale against me in a long lingering kiss. When I release him, I hold his face in my gloved hands for a moment. I won't let myself think it may be for the last time.

"You better," I whisper fiercely.

Gale smiles grimly, kisses my forehead, and then backs out of my embrace. His boots are silent on the chipped gravel path as he slides into the cover of the house next to us. Then he disappears and I hear and see nothing.

The next few minutes feel agonizingly slow. It seems with every passing second, my breath grows louder, the shuffles and whimpers of my scared family heightened in the stillness. If this continues for much longer, I'm certain the Peacekeeper will turn and find us.

But then a loud crash reverberates throughout the quiet and all of us jump almost out of our skin.

The Peacekeeper growls some vulgar expression, quickly smashing his burning cigarette beneath his boot and shouldering his rifle. He stalks away towards the sound and I know I have to move.

"Come on," I say, edging forward to the street and peering up and down. There's no sign of law enforcement anywhere but I'm not about to lead my family across the open ground and let them get caught like sitting ducks.

"Wait here, and when I signal you, one at a time, cross over to me. Understand?"

Wide-eyes and set mouths all nod understanding. I turn one more time to make sure I'm clear and then I sprint for the fence, falling to my knees in a muted slide and coming to rest pressed close to the ground just next to it. It gently sways in a beautiful quiet, no hum evident all along the chainlinks.

I wave the okay, and Rory shoots across the street like a dart. His large gray eyes fix on me like a terrified fawn.

"Slide under and get to the tree line. Do _not_ go into the forest," I whisper.

He nods, his expression changing to one of grim determination and then I'm watching him scamper across the meadow. I can barely make out his thumbs up when he's hidden at the edge of the forest. I wave my hand for the next.

One by one, I send over Prim, my mother, and Vick. Hazelle holds tightly to Posy and makes it across the street when another crash sounds from the direction of the mill. This time, it's followed with shouts and my ears can discern between more than one voice. Hazelle and I exchange one look of panic, but I shake my head and push her towards the fence.

"Get going," I say through clenched teeth. "I'll be right behind you."

She sends Posy underneath first, then slides under herself before scooping her youngest and running all out for the woods. I turn back to the noise of the skirmish and reach for the bow on my back as I stand and start forward. Except my fingers find nothing but air.

Unarmed and helpless, I curse silently. My body leans forward, anxious to run to Gale's aid, but my mind whispers harshly against that endeavor. It's pointless, I'd be of no use without my bow.

I do the only thing I can. Grit my teeth and run.

I don't let myself stop until I'm past the woodline. Everyone is gathered together, clearly unnerved to be beyond the district fences. I would reflect on the irony of their fear, except my attention is called back to the warehouse. There's shouting now, but I can't make out the words. Or the voices.

"Everything's going to be fine," I say. I tell them because it is easier for me to convince that _they_, not me, are the ones that need the reassurance.

Prim is the only one to nod, and I clutch to her unwavering belief in me like a lifeline.

"What next, Katniss?" she asks.

_We need to wait for Gale. We need to WAIT!_

"We need to get to Haymitch and Peeta," I say. "They are waiting for us."

Inexplicably , Posy picks this moment to decide today's adventure have been too much. I see her quivering lower lip signal the impending breakdown. And there is nothing I can do to stop it.

"What about Gale? Where's Gale!"

I have no words to the echoing screams of my heart. I feel like I'm being pulled in two different directions, and because of the equal and opposing forces cannot move an inch one way or the other. The roaring in my head sounds like a freight train barreling down the tracks to squash me beneath the chaos and fury of this situation.

Fingers pry open my clenched fist and a tiny hand quiets the whirling of the world. Prim's blue eyes look at me with authority I didn't know she possessed.

"He will be right behind us, Katniss. Won't he?"

The resolution in her voice is so final that even I believe her. It gives me the strength to nod and walk forward, leading our families into the shadows of the trees.

It is not strong enough to keep me from looking back.

_~Fin_


End file.
